From Sky to Sea
by JanineMNM
Summary: New England-born Sookie Stackhouse can't let go of memories of last summer's lustful, secretive romance that brings more than one surprise. A New Chapter Contest continuation.
1. Summer

**A New Chapter Contest Entry**

**Title: **From Sky to Sea

**Characters: **Sookie, Eric, Bill, Sam, Alcide, Quinn

**Word Count: **11,936

**Pen Name: **JanineMNM

**Beta/ Doula: **makesmyheadspin

**Status: **New writer/ Primipara

**Disclaimer: **All Southern Vampire Mystery characters belong to Charlaine Harris. The name of the town "North Dormer" was borrowed from Edith Wharton's _Summer_.

**Summary: ** New Chapter Contest entry: New England-born Sookie can't let go of memories of last summer's lustful and secretive romance that surprised her with a pregnancy. Planning to take on parenthood alone, she nonetheless finds herself the object of a line-up of suitors vying for her attention. But will she choose the man who matters most?

* * *

"I hate this weather!"

Stepping out of Dr. Ludwig's office, I could barely stand to glance at the slushy snow clogging the sidewalks of my seaside hometown of North Dormer. Who could believe that just yesterday, under clear, sunny skies, we were all walking around coatless, carefree, and—as it turned out—stupidly gullible to believe we were in the home stretch toward summer? I would never forget this April Fools' Day.

I'll be the first to tell you that New Englanders can be a whiny bunch, especially about the weather. (I know because on some days I feel like I'm serving _all _of them at Merlotte's Diner.) Around this time of the year, after a long, gray, and dreary winter, Spring teases us with a few beautifully perfect days and then abandons us. We fall for it every time. Summer doesn't elbow her way in until June, when she brings sudden 90-degree days. Then we complain about how hot it is.

Actually, I don't ever complain about the heat. I love summer. I love the heavy weight of hot, humid air on my body—the hotter, the better. I should have been born in the south. So, yeah. I hate this weather.

Kicking slush out of my path, I nearly ran right into my brother Jason, who came bounding out the door of the auto supply store.

"Sookie! What are you doing out in this mess?"

"I had another appointment with Dr. Ludwig. As of today, I am forty weeks and four days pregnant."

Jason froze. He looked confused, which wasn't unusual, like maybe he was trying to count backwards and figure out the identity of my baby's father, which I'd managed to keep private. Grasping my shoulders, he sputtered in alarm, "You're more than ten months pregnant?" (Only because Jason had spent a lot of time growing up with friends with thick Boston accents, it sounded more like, "Yoah moah than ten months pregnant?")

"No, Jason. A typical full-term pregnancy is forty weeks, which works out to about nine months because there are more than four weeks in a month, except for February." I trailed off, seeing the blank look on his face and realizing I just needed to simplify things for him. "Look, it's okay. I'm just a few days overdue. Doc Ludwig has been keeping a careful eye on me."

He relaxed. "Well, okay…if you're sure. Can I give you a lift anywhere?"

"No. I'm parked right outside of Merlotte's."

He kissed my cheek before bolting for his truck. "All right then. I have to run."

"Oh! Hey, Jason…" I turned to tell him my other news, but he was already gone.

Forty weeks and four days. I wasn't always so obsessed with time—only since about four weeks ago, when Dr. Ludwig had first said that I would go into labor any day. Initially I'd been excited. I'd gone home, double-checked my hospital bag, done some last minute cleaning, and cooked and stashed another meal in the freezer. And then I'd waited. At my wit's end, I'd begged Sam, my boss at Merlotte's, to give me extra hours. He'd relented until customers, feeling uncomfortable about having a pregnant ticking time bomb waiting on them, started bussing their own tables. Plus as you might imagine, being in this kind of forever state of readiness for a life-changing event makes you kind of short-tempered. To make a long story short, Sam sent me home on maternity leave. _With pay._

Still mucking my way to my car, I pulled at the exhausted elastic and fabric of my maternity clothes, which no longer offered full coverage of "The Mountain." That's what Sam had dubbed my midsection because of the way it erupted out comically, far beyond the small frame of my body. I'd taken the jibes in good stride, even wrapping my arms around myself in pride. But then The Mountain loomed so large that the good-natured teasing quieted to titters and finally to uncomfortable silences, averted glances, and barely disguised winces. The Mountain became the Elephant in the Room.

So I was not surprised when my sudden intrusion into Merlotte's post lunch crowd, milling underneath the protection of a large awning, caused the exact opposite of a commotion. There was one quiet gasp. There was a didn't-she-have-that-baby-yet comment. But otherwise, there was silence. With all of my remaining grace and dignity, I mustered a smile and polite nod as I lumbered the last few yards to my old yellow car, now looking like dog piss in the snow. Bracing against the door frame, I leaned in for my ice scraper and wondered why I did not get at least a perfunctory "hello" or a "howahya, hon?"

"Sookie." A voice from the crowd seemed to reply to my thoughts. "Sookie!" he said again.

I knew that voice. It was René, my co-worker Arlene's boyfriend, who had a bad habit of leering at my substantial bosom.

"Hi René." I turned to look back over my shoulder.

"Sookie, fix your jacket."

"Huh?"

"Your jacket." He pulled at his own coattails. "It's tucked up into your pants. Just looks a little…funny."

A muffled snort came from the direction of the crowd.

I started to reach behind me when I remembered the date. Merlotte's was a notoriously brutal place on April Fools' Day.

"Nice try, René. How 'bout you zip your fly and we'll call it even?"

I turned back to my car with my ice scraper in hand. But something was not quite right. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of motion, a sudden shift in the sedate crowd still trying to avoid its return to the wintry mess. The disturbance was caused by Hoyt Fortenberry, Jason's best friend. He was whisking in my direction, reaching toward my waistband where, indeed, my coat apparently _had _been snagged during my quick trip to the ladies' room on my way out of Ludwig's office. Hoyt, who's not especially adroit even under the best conditions, hit a slippery patch just as he neared me, catching himself in the sad and tired elastic of my maternity jeans. With a sudden snap, Hoyt was on the ground, soaking up dirty slush.

So were my jeans. And my thong.

I might have been able to salvage the situation quickly. After all, my coat, now freed from my pants, covered most of my bottom. But Hoyt, fully aghast at his blunder, fumbled with my pants, tipping me off balance, and pulling me down onto all fours on top of him.

The crowd erupted.

Hearing the howls from all the way inside the diner, Sam popped his head out the front door in time to see my full moon still exposed.

"It all happened in a flash," Mack Rattray snickered to Sam.

"Sookie! Sookie, are you okay?" Sam bounded over to Hoyt and me to help us disentangle ourselves. At least _he_ had the common sense to let me manage my own pants. They were goners.

"Everything's fine except my pride."

"Get in the car, Sookie. I'll finish clearing your car."

Grateful, that's just what I did.

"Ugh!" I bent my head into my arms folded across the steering wheel. "Just perfect!" I said aloud, hoping to jar my brain in other directions. This little fiasco would feed right into the nastiness of the cardigan-sweater-and-pearl-necklace crowd, the same heartless busybodies who'd savored the news of my out-of-wedlock pregnancy as a delightful morsel alongside afternoon tea. Maxine Fortenberry, their ringleader and president of the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and her sidekick Jane Bodehouse, had spread rumors about my having a one-night stand with Alcide Herveaux, the fisherman who supplies Merlotte's. This much I will tell you: Alcide and I have shared serious flirtations and a date or two, but beyond that…well, it just isn't anyone's business. And by the way, I could tell you some juicy gossip about Maxine and Jane, but I won't bring myself down to their level.

Still waiting for Sam to finish clearing the car, I sat there quietly, willing myself not to think about the scene I had just starred in. Have you ever tried not to think about something? Like if I said to you, "Don't think about Sookie's bare ass sticking up out of the snow," what would you think about? Right.

Clearly, this kind of embarrassing situation would have called for some TLC from Gran. I remembered that once she had advised me, "Don't let anyone else's misperceptions about you determine who you are." I grabbed onto her words, held tight to their wisdom, and relaxed, letting go as other memories filtered in…

_Pulling me close, he leaned down, resting his forehead against the top of my head as he stroked my arms. He seemed lost in thought, quietly contemplating, until he breathed sharply, seemingly on the verge of a verbal leap. And then finally, he said, "Sookie, I'm just passing through for the summer. I can't commit to anything else. I have…obligations."_

_My own love life had burned me in countless ways. I held nothing but a cynical view toward any kind of lasting commitment. _

"_My life is complicated too." I sighed with relief against him. _

_And then the mood lightened. Unfettered, we could succumb to the allure of summer, glamoured by its promise of carefree abandonment. His lips brushed against mine purposefully, parting them, seeking warmth._

Suddenly, Sam rapped on the window to let me know he was finished. I rolled it down to thank him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"How's Sadie?" I asked. Sadie Gardner, a lifelong resident of North Dormer, had been down on her luck lately and in need of a few warm meals. Through a fund established by Gran before she died, I was running an underground soup kitchen of sorts at Merlotte's. Within the local network, people knew that if they asked for a table in Sookie's section, they could get a discrete free meal. Most people didn't take advantage of the help and used it only to cover themselves here or there. But about a month ago, Sadie had started coming in fairly regularly before suddenly disappearing.

"She's fine," Sam replied. "Turns out she's staying with her daughter now."

"Good." Relieved, I could check one of my worries off my list. "Anyone else we need to be concerned about?"

Sam reached over to pick some more ice out of my windshield wipers. "I'll take care of it. Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No. I'll be okay. It's tomorrow, Sam."

His eyes widened. "Really? How…what…" he stammered.

"Ludwig wants to induce me. I go in at 7 am."

"Wow, Sookie. Tomorrow! Let me know if you need anything—whatever you need."

"Thanks, Sam. I'll let you know how it…turns out."

"You do that. I'll be thinking about you." He leaned in again to give me a tight hug and then pulled away, eyes shining. "I love you…I mean…you know…"

"I know, Sam."

I pulled out onto the street. And then it really hit me. _Tomorrow_. Tomorrow I was going to be a mamma. Should I write it on my calendar? April 2. Give birth. And then I started crying all over again.

Soon enough I was heading down my long driveway, through a forested area around a large pond, and out onto a broad expanse of lawn overlooking Buzzard's Bay. Atop this scenic perch sat Gran's old saltbox house, with its asymmetrical roof- long on one side and shorter on the other—weathered cedar shingles, and white trim. In need of repair, it was charming nonetheless. In fact, no amount of money could buy its character or sense of history. It was home. I rolled down my windows to breathe in the sharp, cold air, smelling of pine trees and briny sea.

On the front walkway stood another one of the complications in my life. Clearing away slush, he was dressed from head to toe in clothes purchased from the Maine-based sportswear company: duck boots with felted wool inserts, waterproof pants, waterproof jacket, fleece scarf, and a shearling wool cap with ear flaps. Because of this trademark style, I had nicknamed him.

L.L. Bill.

But to me (and only me) he was just L.L.

The history that L.L. and I had was complicated, to say the least. I'd say we were in a sort of holding pattern. In the past, we'd had more, which is what L.L. wanted again. I just didn't know if it was what _I_ wanted. Pregnancy hormones aside, all of the ins and outs of our relationship made my feelings for him vacillate wildly, sometimes on a moment-by-moment basis. My best friend Tara thought I was crazy to even consider being his girlfriend. To her he was William Compton, attorney. Shrewd. Stiff. Sullen. The guy who made the bad investment decisions that led to the loss of my substantial inheritance from Gran. But Tara didn't know him the way I knew him.

About a month ago, when it had looked like labor had been imminent, L.L. had packed a bag and moved in from his house next door. Even before then, he'd made an effort to help me out in whatever way he could. He seemed to genuinely care about the baby and me.

Right now, however, he was sprinkling kitty litter on my front walkway.

"Oh, hey, L.L.! Don't use that on my sidewalk! It turns to mud and gets tracked inside. My wood floors are going to look like the backside of a potter's studio."

"Sorry, Sookie. I didn't have any sand and this chemical ice melt might damage your gran's hydrangea bushes."

I started to cry.

L.L. put down the kitty litter. "Come here. I know you've had a hard day." He pulled me into the crinkly fabric of his Gore-Tex coat, where my tears dribbled down his sleeve.

"I've been hanging on the edge of labor for nearly month. It's just so frustrating that tomorrow I have to go in there and be pumped full of drugs."

"You're getting induced _tomorrow_?"

"Yeah. Wait…if you didn't know about my induction then what…"

L.L. cast his eyes about, panicked, searching for a diversion.

Then it dawned on me. "Oh, for Pete's sake! Who was it? Who told you I got pantsed?"

"Sam called to make sure you got home okay. Come on," he prodded. "Let's go inside and I'll make you a cup of tea."

I went upstairs to my bedroom to find another pair of pants—the selection was dwindling—and then met L.L. in the kitchen. There was a new message on my answering machine.

"Hi, Sookie. This is Jason. I just wanted to check in and make sure you're okay. Hoyt feels real bad and wants to know how he can make it up to you. Listen. This thing will blow over in less than a month. Last month everyone was talking about how Maxine Fortenberry's vibrator fell out of her purse when she was paying at Dunkin' Donuts… rolled clear across the floor…well, heh, heh, heh, that _still _is wicked funny, isn't it? But don't worry about it, okay? Let me know if you need anything. Love ya!"

"Jason, too!" I rubbed my hands over my forehead as if I could erase away the embarrassment.

L.L. escorted me out to the living room, where he helped me get settled on my old sofa that sank impossibly low to the ground. Sipping my cup of tea, I began to mentally sort through the day's events. Although I'd been ready to have this baby for a month, knowing without a doubt that I would give birth tomorrow left me flummoxed.

L.L. sat next to me, resting his hand on my knee. "A penny for your thoughts?"

"Hmm…" I trailed off, recalling.

"_A penny for your thoughts?" I said to him. Fingers entwined, we had strolled around the curve of the beach below Gran's house and onto the sliver of land that sliced a mile out into the bay. Nearly all the way to the end of the sandbar, I gave in to the sensation of being surrounded by water, almost as if I were walking on it. The spirit of this place (my home!) was palpable, settling in my bones and sustaining my blood, fueling body and soul. I looked over at his composed face and wondered whether he felt it too._

"_Hmm?" he murmured. I had interrupted his thoughts, whatever they were._

"_I said, 'A penny for your thoughts.' You're hard to read."_

_He laughed. "So normally you can read minds?"_

_I laughed back at him. "Usually I have a pretty good handle on people." _

_Gran had called it my "other sense." When I put my mind to it, I was good at observing and listening to all the different ways people reveal things about themselves. We called them nonverbal and paraverbal cues in my social work classes. _

_I explained, "You don't have many 'tells.'"_

"_Oh, so you're a poker expert?" he gibed._

"_Maybe you should find out for yourself."_

_We continued walking, but he never answered my question._

Next to me, L.L. shifted. I caught a whiff of mint and inhaled deeply. Back when I had been going through morning sickness at all times of the day, the scent of mint was one of the only things that had calmed my stomach enough to get some food in me. L.L. would bring me bunches of mint from his garden. Remembering his kindness, I felt the tension in my body unwinding and leaned toward him to rest my head on his shoulder…and promptly got scratched by his wool sweater.

"Argh! Could you take this thing off?"

Resigned, L.L. bent forward to remove first his wool sweater and then another layer of plaid wool flannel to reveal a long-sleeve undershirt made of softer moisture-wicking fabric. I settled back, closing my eyes, breathing deeply, seeking out the soothing mint… smelling…menthol?

"L.L, what is that awful smell?" Eyes watering, I leaned away from him.

L.L. knew when he'd reached my limit. Still, as he stood up and started walking away, he sniped, "I used some muscle rub to relieve the sore back I've had from sleeping on that mattress in the guest room."

"Well if I had more money, I'd buy you a new one," I snapped back.

L.L. paused only slightly and then kept walking. "I'm going out to finish up the walkway so we're all set for tomorrow. Why don't you see if you can get some sleep? I'll make sure you're up in time for dinner."

I pulled down the old afghan from the back of the sofa and settled very quickly into a dream-fueled sleep…remembering…

_July 5. By the calendar, the season was just beginning, only two weeks old. But Summer was already a mature young woman. Fully ripened, she held the promise of a long, ample harvest ahead, bountiful in her fruit. _

_He was there, pressed against me, melding our naked bodies with the heavy, sultry air. My arms thrown back behind my head, I lay open and vulnerable, savoring the delicious sensation of wild abandonment in the pit of my stomach. His strong, graceful fingers lightly stroked up and down my side, tracing my curves. Out, in, out. Up. Down. My body took form under his feathery sketching. _

_From my position beneath the window, I could see the hazy blue summer sky, bleached out by an intense sun, and the occasional seagull daring to traverse its path. Propped up on his elbow, he'd be able to look out toward the horizon, where a steady stream of boat traffic would be headed toward Cape Cod Canal. But he was looking at me instead, studying me with his enigmatic quiet intensity that I found exhilarating. I shivered._

"_You can't be cold."_

"_I want more." I said._

"_More what?" _

_Caught under the lustful rays of the afternoon sun, his words floated languorously, swirling mid air before disappearing and settling deep and low within me, tantalizing me with possibilities. As lovers, we were novices with each other, still naïve to each others' bodies and desires. But this much I knew: the level of unabashed comfort that had come naturally to us brought no limits to the amount of attention we would lavish on each other. No boundaries of exploration. Countless possibilities stretched before us. _

_I leaned in to nibble softly at his ear and whispered my carnal desires._

"_Is that all?" he responded. _

_His body, quiet and still, belied the force churning inside. He was, if nothing else, a man of action, the kind of action that would be finessed, not blundered. The mere anticipation of his impending ministrations turned my innermost desires out, like a tropical fruit sliced open, flesh splayed, awaiting the feel of lips and tongue and teeth and heated breath. I reached down to touch the softest, hardest part of him, feeling his full potential for lovemaking._

_A moan from somewhere deep and primal escaped from me. _

_It was his undoing. The very sound of my spontaneous pleasure ignited instinctive drives beyond the realm of his conscious control. His body stirred into fluid motion, caressing, kissing, licking, panting, exploring, claiming, and giving. We were, at that moment of flesh on flesh, joined in a way far greater than us—greater than the two of us entangled in the heat of a summer afternoon. We were caught in the tug and pull of the force of life itself. _

_My thighs opened wide, inviting him. Braced up on his elbows, he looked down at me, watching my eyes, studying my reaction as he gave himself to me, inch by gracious inch. He filled the very center of my being, possessing it in the most intimate way. And then his body began pulsing inside me- setting pace with the steady, insistent waves lapping on the beach- and driving us both toward inexorable culmination. There would be no turning back now. Time blurred and slipped around us as we became lost to the rocking flow of our bodies against each other. _

_The warmth in me was growing. I groaned in pleasure. _

"_Lover, I want you to cum with my name on your tongue," he whispered, nuzzling behind my ear before stringing kisses down my neck._

_His light touch almost pushed me to my explosive end, but I steadied myself, clawing at the sheets. I didn't want this pleasure to stop._

_Reaching up to hold his cheek in my palm, I smoothed the corner of his mouth, twitching almost imperceptibly. It was his sexiest "tell." I knew he was close. Reveling in the wonder of pleasuring this strong, sexy, gorgeous man, I felt my own powers swell. I would make him cum first._

"_No. Gentlemen first," I teased, breathless. _

_He laughed. Leaning to one side, he slowly slid his arm down the length of my side to my leg and hitched it high across his back. His muscular body tensed as he supported himself and then firmly and purposely thrust, several times in steady succession, touching new places within me. _

"_Uuunh!" I was teetering on the edge, wanting to jump off, but also wanting to relish this most delicious moment._

"_That's not my name, Sookie."_

_In response, I clenched my ring of muscles tightly around his substantial thickness._

_He paused, exhaling hard, and bowing his head down. The corner of his mouth twitched._

_I clenched again._

_He growled deep within his chest and then called out, "Sookie!"_

_Tremors rippled through him as his seed exploded into my body. The warmth inside me grew impossible to contain._

"_Sookie!"_

_Opening my eyes to savor his pleasure, I met his look, set against the backdrop of the wide open sky, and noticed for the first time the way his beautiful eyes matched its hazy blue heat. _

_I would give myself over to the heat…_

"Sookie!"

_Only now the heat shimmered far off, receding as I struggled to reach it._

"Sookie, turn over. It's not good for the baby on this side. Turn to your other side."

Gentle hands tugged at me, supporting my belly as I turned uncomfortably, uncertain how to move with this strange weight now centering on me.

_And then suddenly, he was there, kneeling in front of me and looking at me with those same summer sky eyes. His hands were stroking my belly. I knew I was dreaming._

"_It's really ours?" I could feel the tension in his body, coiled with excitement, ready to spring. _

"_Yes. Ours." _

_Trembling, he lifted my shirt with the utmost care and, resting a hand tenderly on each side, marveled at the expanse of my midsection. Meeting my eyes with a grin, he leaned in to kiss my belly button, which long ago had popped out._

_Then, pulling back, he paused, still absorbing this surprise so suddenly presented to him. Reaching toward me again, his hands circled my abdomen in awe, exploring first the top of the bulge underneath my swollen breasts, and then underneath the waistband of my pants, just above my pubic bone._

_Feeling every inch a woman, I shifted toward him._

"_He moved! He moved! Did you feel that?"_

"_Yes," I groaned. My bladder had felt every inch of that move._

"_Oh," concern now in his voice._

"_Argh," I groaned again, feeling more pressure this time. "Ah!" A sharp pain seared between my legs as I felt a trickle of wetness._

And then I was awake- really awake this time- and fully disoriented from my nap. Outside, a gloomy darkness had snapped itself on tightly, containing the world around. I blinked against the brightness of the table lamp, filled with collected beach finds from years past. As I sat up, I realized, first of all, that I was alone. Then, feeling the wetness between my legs, I wondered whether the baby had kicked me in the bladder while I was sleeping. I was uncomfortable, like I really needed to pee, which wasn't unusual.

I braced myself against the arm of the sofa, stood up, steadied myself, and waddled toward the bathroom. Passing through the kitchen first, I found L.L., listening to NPR and rifling through the Boston Globe. He glanced up. "I hope you don't mind I let you sleep. I set some dinner aside for you."

At the mention of food, suddenly I was feeling woozy. Without another word, I picked up my pace and barely made it in time to the bathroom. L.L. was right behind me, holding back my hair and handing me a wet cloth.

"Can you give me a minute? I need to attend to some other needs."

"Oh…ah…sure." L.L. made a quick exit.

Fully awake, I felt the tenacious tendrils of the dream poking at me, reminding me of my aloneness.

_By August 21, Summer already had shortchanged us, waning in strength as she cavorted with fluffy, light-hearted days. He and I started to lose our edge with each other, to feel uncertain as our definitions smeared and blurred. Without Summer- without our commitment to her code of carefree conduct—who were we?_

_We met quietly one evening for dinner on the pier, shielded by the throngs of tourists demanding their full share of vacation. Sitting at a picnic table, facing each other, we struggled to anchor the tray of seafood between our folded arms. It slipped and skidded off-center, back and forth across the imaginary middle line dividing us. _

_His actions uncertain and jerky, he reached out to select an oyster from its icy platter. Wrapping his lips around the shell, he sucked down the meat, its undulating folds and raw crevices bathed in its own briny liquor. Only a month ago, I would have shoved the tray aside and leaned across the table to taste his kiss. _

"_When did you get back?" I asked him, attempting to distract myself from the waves of nausea rolling over me. He'd been away on a work-related excursion on the other end of the Cape._

"_This afternoon," he replied. Bringing another oyster up to his lips he hesitated, looking at me questioningly, offering._

_My tender stomach lurched. Queasiness aside, I wanted to accept, but pregnant women couldn't eat raw shellfish. More importantly though, I couldn't accept because all that he was offering was a morsel of food, a mere bite of hedonistic pleasure to be savored, but ultimately consumed. And then gone. Requesting anything more—requesting sustenance from him- would change the very nature of our relationship. And as scared as I was facing this pregnancy alone, I could not bear the thought of becoming his responsibility. _

_At that moment, I decided to tell him what I knew what make our severance complete._

"_I reconciled with William." _

_The stiff words—themselves a lie atop a hidden truth- curled hard lips around teeth and tongue._

_He held his last oyster, slipped it in his mouth, chewed matter-of-factly and then swallowed. I watched his throat ripple and smooth. We said goodbye then, and alone, I stumbled into the dunes and retched in the sharp grasses._

The sound of L.L. coughing outside the bathroom door snapped me back to the moment.

"This just might be one of those low points in life," I thought to myself wryly, looking around at my outdated bathroom, sitting on the commode, as Gran always used to call it, and feeling an uncomfortable and nagging pressure.

I kicked off my wet bottoms, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it underneath The Mountain.

L.L. was waiting right outside the bathroom door.

"Should I call the doctor?" He looked inquiringly at my clothes.

"No. I think I'm okay. I'm just a little uncomfortable. Let me get changed."

As I gingerly walked upstairs to my bedroom, I tried to shift and move in a way to ease the discomfort, but the baby seemed to be stuck in a position right on top of my bladder. Pacing inside my bedroom, I realized with a panicky feeling that this pain that I was feeling—this constant searing claw jammed up between my legs- was not going away. I scooted down to my hands and knees, hoping it would relieve some of the pressure and give me a chance to catch my breath.

I must have been taking too long, because just then, L.L. peeked in, his eyes widening at the sight of my scrabbling about half naked on all fours. "Yes, I'd say she's in significant pain," he was saying into the phone. "All right. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Sookie, can you stand?"

I nodded.

L.L. stooped to help me upright. More woozy, sparkly stars flooded my vision. He grabbed for the trash can and waited while I gasped into it.

"Thanks," I sputtered, "I'm feeling much better now. Let's just sit down for a minute." I plastered one of my everything-is-just-peachy kinds of smiles on my face and sat on the side of my bed. "Could you grab me a pair of underwear and some pants?"

Once fully clothed, I'd feel just fine. L.L. rifled through my drawer, held up a pair of pants, frowned, and then resumed his search.

"Damn it, L.L. just grab anything. I'm feeling a draft over here."

He returned and looked down to find me pinching my thigh, trying to distract myself from the pain between my legs. Holding the clothes out in front of him, he raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

I waved my arms impatiently at him. "Just do it, okay?"

He bent to help me hook my feet into my panties and…pajama pants?

"Sookie, are you sure there isn't…anybody you'd like me to call for you right now?"

"No," I hissed.

With L.L.'s help, I grunted to a stand and headed out to his Subaru. Riding toward the hospital, I held onto the door tightly and prayed for a quick trip. Immediately he slowed at the rotary leading out of town.

"What are you doing?" I griped at L.L.

"I'm yielding to traffic in the rotary."

"Sweet Jesus, nobody else around here follows that law! Why should_ you now_?"

L.L. merged into the circle, and then braked abruptly as another car cut in front of him. I heard him muttering something under his breath about Massachusetts drivers. He had a disdainful look of determination on his face, the one he gets when he has to do something he doesn't really want to do. The first time he'd given that look to me, I'd unwittingly served him a heaping pile of his least favorite food in the world: macaroni salad.

Maybe I was in shock. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was L.L.'s ongoing mutterings about how traffic laws were not merely helpful suggestions. Maybe it was the flickering overhead street lights casting alternating shadows and an orange-ish glow on his face. Whatever it was, suddenly I felt like I was riding to the hospital with a stranger.

"I can't do this!" I cried out.

"Sookie, of course you're scared right now. It's only natural. But you are going to get through this. It's the way you are. And I'm here to help, in whatever way you need."

L.L. was back. His look had softened and become more familiar. Or maybe I was just looking at him differently. I squinted my eyes, looking again, unsure, confused. There was a niggling disconnect in the back of my mind, as though something between us had been altered.

"But that's just it…I mean us…this…" I waved my hands impatiently, looking for words that wouldn't come.

L.L. waited, then seeing that my words weren't returning, he said, "I've made you this offer before, and I'll offer it again…"

_Was he trying to get me to sign a contract? _There it was again—that niggling little disconnect. I could hear sounds coming out of his mouth and see his lips moving, but had little understanding of what he was saying. I shook my head again, trying to concentrate on anything but "the claw." L.L. came back into focus.

"…I love you Sookie. I care for you and the baby deeply. I know I have made mistakes that have made your life very difficult. I deeply regret my mistakes every day. I don't know what else I can do to show you how much I love you. I'd do anything for you. Marry me. We can tell people that the baby is mine. Allow me to take responsibility. You and the baby will be secure."

"Oh, no!" I wailed, "I don't want to be your big plate of macaroni salad!"

"What?"

"Ooooh! It's the claw! Between my legs!"

"The what?" L.L. looked panicked. I noticed that he floored it through the next rotary.

"Oh…damn it! Summer sky blue!" Again, I waved my hands, exasperated. I wanted more than anything to make sense, even to myself. And then I panicked too, not wanting to cut myself off from his support, even if it wasn't perfect.

"I need you, L.L.. I'm really scared."

At that moment, we pulled up to the E.R. entrance to the hospital. L.L. darted around to open the door for me as an attendant came out with a wheelchair. Then we breezed through admittance and came to a halt at the desk in maternity triage.

Behind the desk, a woman said hello, then basically ignored us. I didn't know whether to hop up on the counter to show her my belly or what. I got up out of the wheelchair and paced, which made L.L. more nervous. I made the universal hand twirl motion.

"Sookie, I can't tell what _this_ means." He acted out my gesture in an exaggerated fashion. The stress was affecting him too.

"It means that whatever's happening to me right now feels like it's moving along."

Another nurse breezed down the hallway toward us. "I'm coming. I'm coming," she said and then abruptly asked, "Are you the father?"

L.L. made the macaroni salad face at her and started clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. I jumped into the conundrum too quickly. "Yes, he's the father…I mean no…I mean…" I twirled my hands.

The nurse looked quizzically at L.L., who deadpanned, "It's the claw."

I laughed. It must have sounded maniacal because the nurse grasped my elbow and said, "Let's go down this way and have you checked out." She glanced at L.L. "Mr….?" She waited for him to fill in the blank.

"Compton. William Compton."

"Mr. Compton, I'm Nurse Oliva. You may wait right here." She said her name like Olive-ah.

"Nurse Oliver, when may I come back?" L.L. had misunderstood, thinking she was speaking with a Boston accent.

"That's Oliva."

"That's what I said. Oliver."

As I listened to their inanities, I was suddenly inspired by an idea that would evade the main question at hand. "He's my birth partner!" I shouted.

Everyone's attention jolted back to me. (Where it belonged, I might add).

Nurse Oliva took me back to a curtained area to help me get changed.

"So what's going on with you this evening?"

I took a deep breath, and then spilled everything in one shot. "I felt like maybe the baby kicked me in the bladder and made me wet my pants. I've been trying to pee ever since, but I can't get rid of the pressure and pain. I feel like there's a claw jammed up in there sideways. I'm scheduled to come in here tomorrow morning to be induced."

I handed her the patient information card from Ludwig's office.

"And you were at 4 cm and 80% this morning?" she said, looking at it. Her lips smirked.

"Right." I knew my numbers.

"And you don't feel like you're having contractions now?"

"I'm in pain, but it doesn't go away like a contraction would."

"Hmmph," she chuckled.

I hefted myself up on the table. Nurse Oliva unfolded a blanket over my legs, lifted my gown, and wrapped two belts around The Mountain.

"Not so tight," I grunted.

"Honey, I promise they're not tight" she said. "You're having a contraction right now. Look right here on this monitor." She pointed out the jagged line climbing higher and higher.

"Here. Let me just adjust this sensor a little."

As she pushed on the belt, I suddenly felt a great gush of water between my legs. At the same time, the claw, which had been wedged faithfully between my legs for the past hour or so, now slipped free, dragging itself from one end of my body to the other.

Now, when I tell you that I had promised myself that I wasn't going to scream during labor like a fool, you have to believe me. I figured that while I'd have no control over crapping on the delivery table, I'd claim some dignity by emitting no unladylike noises. But when that claw cut loose, I nearly lost my mind. The screams echoing off the hard surfaces of cold tile and hospital equipment hardly seemed like my own.

Nurse Oliva secured the sides of the bed and started pushing me toward a delivery room.

"I have to push!"

She puffed and blew into my face, trying to remind how to gain control. I blew out a few puffs, and then gave a big old push anyway. It was just too hard to resist.

L.L. was there waiting for me in the delivery room along with a man dressed in scrubs.

"I'm Dr. Naughton," he said.

"Where's Dr. Ludwig?"

"She's not on duty until tomorrow morning."

"Who are you again?"

L.L. spoke up. "That's Dr. Norton. He's the on-call Ob-Gyn."

Scrubs Guy cleared his throat. "Dr. Naughton. N-a-u-g-h-t-o-n."

As the good doctor was giving L.L. his second spelling lesson of the night, I scooted from the gurney to the delivery table. I was feeling significantly better now that the claw had cut loose, but there was no telling what would happen if it went back on attack.

Almost as soon as I was on the table, I could feel the pressure building again. In fear, I clutched at L.L.'s arm.

"Push down into your bottom like you're having a bowel movement when you feel the contraction," Nurse Oliva instructed.

"Great," I thought wryly, bearing down. My body had taken over, like it knew just what to do. Then I heard L.L.'s voice chanting, "One. Two. Three. Four. Five…"

"That's okay, L.L. I got this. It's not too bad," I laughed nervously. I bore down again, this time feeling a sting.

"Ah!" I backed off, my panic surging again. "I guess it's too late for an epidural," I half joked. Nobody chuckled along with me. I realized my fingers were still digging into L.L.'s arm. The pressure started building again. I pushed, feeling the fiery burn.

"Sookie, I can see the baby's head when you bear down" Dr. Naughton said.

Now with the reality of having to shove this baby out my hoohah fully upon me, I wished like hell for any kind of escape- anything that would take me away from this time and place. As another contraction took over, I could feel myself slipping and losing control. My breaths came to me in short gasps as I looked wildly to L.L. for help. I was shaking uncontrollably. Damn it, I didn't want to cry, but my fear had gotten the best of me.

"Shhh, Sookie, you're doing just fine," L.L. soothed. He brushed some hair out of my face.

I nodded and then half grunted, half sobbed through another contraction. L.L. was supporting one of my legs and stroking it steadily. I took a deep breath, and with some grit and determination, finally just bore down on what I needed to do. Soon enough I fell into a quiet hypnotic rhythm of sorts, pushing as much as I could stand with each contraction. I won't lie. It hurt like hell, but I managed not to focus on the pain. In fact, after a while, I had little awareness of anything else around me. By the time the head came out, I was so exhausted and out of it that Nurse Oliva had to get my attention to look down to watch my baby being born.

"It's a boy!" Dr. Naughton announced.

Nurse Oliva added, "Time of birth: 11:59 PM. You still have yourself an April Fools' baby! He's a big one!" Then she plunked him right on my chest as she briskly rubbed him down with a towel. He let loose a screaming, angry bawl.

In the movies, this is the time when the mother cries in joy as she reaches for her newborn treasure. Well, to be brutally honest, that's not how it happened for me. Worn out and overwhelmed, I could focus on little else besides my girly region which, ablaze with pain, felt like it had been blown to bits. Worse still, this squirming creature howling in my face looked like a day-old rump roast marked down for quick sale in the meat case.

Nurse Oliva whisked away the baby to weigh and measure him.

"Ten pounds, 2 ounces!" she exclaimed. "What's his name?"

"Name?" I stammered. "I wanted to meet him first. See what he's like."

I noticed L.L. was looking a little pale and subdued.

"Are you all right, L.L.?"

"I think I'm going to step outside for a minute, if that's okay with you. Would you like me to call Jason?"

I nodded.

He leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. "I'm proud of you, Sookie." As he backed away, I could see that his eyes were brimming with tears…and that the front of his clothes was splattered and wet.

"I'll get you a pair of scrubs for you to change into," Nurse Oliva said to him. "Birthing is a messy business."

When L.L. came back a while later, I was still getting my 10 pounds, 2 ounces worth of stitches, and Baby was sleeping in a plastic box on wheels next to me. He'd been cleaned, swaddled in a striped blanket, and topped with a cap tied with a curly blue ribbon. Before long, I too was sleeping, more deeply than I had in nine months.

At some point later in the morning, the new nurse, Nurse Carney, aroused me to get me out of bed.

"Come on, dear. It's time to get you back up on your feet and take you to the bathroom."

"I'm fine," I said, suddenly aware of exactly what she was asking me to do.

"Nope. Doctor's orders."

I stood with her help. It was such a strange sensation, shuffling across the room without that weight I had carried for so long. I gasped when I saw myself in the mirror—my straggly hair, the broken blood vessels on my face, the strange-looking flabby pooch where the baby had been. A quick shower and my own bathrobe from home put me in better spirits. As the nurse shuffled me back toward bed, L.L. was stirring awake from his nap on the lounge chair.

"Where's the baby?" he cried.

I jumped. I hadn't realized he was gone.

"It's okay," Nurse Carney replied. She explained that when she had noticed that we were both asleep, she had taken him to the nursery. She set a donut-shaped pillow in place on the bed.

"I'm Nurse Cahney, by the way." She nodded toward L.L..

"Nurse Connie," he nodded back. "I'm William Compton."

Nurse Carney hesitated briefly, and then continued raising my bed into a sitting position.

I sighed. "L.L., it's Carney. C-a-r-n-e-y." He threw up his arms in exasperation.

"Your throne, my dear," she said, patting at the pillow.

I climbed back in bed and began picking at the hospital food she had set in front of me before darting out. Within moments, she was back, wheeling Baby in his bassinette and parking him next to my bed. Then she was gone again, running off to tend to another patient.

"Sookie, don't let it get you down," he said, referring to my earlier lapse, when I had forgotten about Baby.

"Right." I pasted on a smile. I appreciated L.L's efforts to reassure me, but I was in no mood for platitudes. I looked over at the tiny living creature sleeping next to me- my own flesh and blood- and waited for one tug on my heartstrings. Nope. Nothing. He was nothing more than a stranger to me. I wondered how my heart could beat so cold.

I spent the rest of the morning napping, feeding Baby, and watching HGTV. L.L. dozed on and off beside me.

A buzz from the intercom startled us both awake. "Ms. Stackhouse?" a voice hesitated.

"Yes?" I pressed a button to respond.

"There is a man here who says he's the baby's father."

L.L. sputtered. Then I don't really know what happened. Suddenly I was no longer in the hospital room, instead reliving a moment buried long ago, now conscious.

_Our bodies were cool. We had swum the fifty yards from Gran's beach to the floating dock. Oblivious to the hard press of weathered boards against our backs, we bobbed in the gentle waves, lost to the sensation of floating adrift. We discussed everything and nothing in particular. He talked about starting back up full time at his architectural firm in Boston in the fall. He said he'd get tickets and take me to a Red Sox game. And then conversation meandered elsewhere, casually._

_I rewound the memory of our conversation._

_In the fall. Us. Together. _

_Spinning now, I realized I had missed an opportunity to develop something more with him. The chance had been right there before me. Its massive form had floated to the surface like a whale, gracefully defying its bulk and weight. Visible for only a brief moment, it had slipped quietly away to merge with dark, deep waters._

_Unnoticed until now._

_How had I missed it?_

_Had he come back for me now? _

"Sookie," L.L. looked at me imploringly.

"Who?" my voice wavered.

The intercom voice replied, "Sam Merlotte."

_No. Of course not. He didn't know._

_The wave had already crashed around me. Looking down, I watched sand rushing out to sea with the retreating water, creating trenches around my feet. I had the crazy sensation that I was racing backwards while standing still. I started to lose my balance, but Gran was near, holding out her arm to steady me. _

"Ma'am?...May I send him back?" the intercom voice persisted.

"Yes."

Within seconds, Sam came breezing into my room.

"Sookie! Congratulations! We heard the news from Jason." He handed me a bouquet of pink carnations, my favorite flower, and kissed my cheek. He peered down at Baby, sleeping peacefully in his bassinette. "What's his name?"

"I don't know yet. I'm waiting to be inspired."

"Inspired? What better inspiration is there?" Sam murmured, tucking the blanket around the baby. Abruptly taking a deep breath, he straightened up.

"Well, that woman at the front desk gave me a hard time. She said only family members could visit, so…"

I managed a fragile smile. "Thanks for coming to visit, Sam."

His eyebrows furrowed. He sat on the other side of the bed and squeezed my hand. "How are _you_?_"_

_The moment on the dock was long gone. We'd charted a different course and landed here, many alternate realities away from where we'd been, floating on that summer day. _

"I'm fine. A little tired. A little sore." I could hear my voice faltering.

L.L. was watching me. "Sookie, you're not due for pain meds for another hour or two. Do you want me to get you an icepack?"

"Sure. That sounds great. Thanks."

L.L. was starting to head out the door when the intercom buzzed again.

"Um…there's another man here who says he's the baby's father."

Instantly, I retreated back within myself.

_We were sitting on the dock, our feet cool in the water as we looked out across the bay. I brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the light reflecting off the faceted surface of the water. He leaned in closer to murmur in my ear. "Is that all?" he'd asked me once. What had he meant? The blinding light overwhelmed and washed out all of my senses. Frantically, I tried to hear him, but the harder I tried, the more quietly he whispered._

"Miss Stackhouse?...His name is Alcide Herveaux."

_The retreating wave raced by me again. "Gran!" I called._

"Yes. Fine." I replied.

Alcide appeared at the door. Tall, burly, and handsomely weathered by the sun and sea, he looked out of place carrying a bouquet of pink carnations. He strode toward me.

"Sorry about that bit of undercover operation. Homeland Security is working hard for you out there." Alcide placed the flowers on the table by the bed, pausing as he noticed the other identical arrangement.

"Congratulations, Sookie." He kissed my cheek and then peered at Baby. "Who is he?"

I took note of Alcide's unusual phrasing of his question. He wasn't the only confused soul in the room.

"I don't know yet. I can't decide. I just call him Baby for now." I had packed away my feelings- given up on them- and now, exhausted from the day, had no more energy for social niceties. L.L. gave me a studious look.

Alcide stepped closer to Baby, craning his neck a bit to see his face.

"It's okay, Alcide. He won't bite." Sam joked, and then almost as if to make a point, he stroked Baby's cheek with his finger.

L.L. blanched. "If you're going to touch the baby, you should properly sanitize your hands, Sam. Infants have very weak immune systems."

Alcide smirked and then took the seat where Sam had been sitting. Sam shifted to the foot of my bed. I winced a bit at the jostling as the donut slipped beneath me.

"I'll go get that ice, Sookie," L.L. said.

But once again, the intercom buzzed. This time I was already safely away from the shoreline, with nary a toe in the water. The past would remain a past, and now I would forge ahead with the present.

"Yes?"

"The baby's father is here," a bored voice replied. "Name is John Qui…"

"Send him back," I snapped.

We all turned to look toward the door. "Hi Babe!" In breezed Quinn, another one of my former lovers. "That's some troll guarding the bridge out there." Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at Baby.

"Cute kid!" He added another bouquet of pink carnations to the pile.

"You look great." He leaned in to kiss my cheek, stole a glance at my breasts, and then plopped on the end of the bed opposite Sam.

"Aaah!" I squirmed, looking for a comfortable position.

Briefly, he managed a look of alarm. "Sorry 'bout that. I guess you're a little sore." Waggling his eyebrows, he added, "Hope you're not out of commission for too long." L.L., Sam, and Alcide groaned in disgust. Quinn had never been one to censor his words. He'd gotten much worse since I'd dumped him, almost in a desperate effort to win back my affection.

And then there they were—a whole roomful of men with whom I had shared romantic encounters of one kind or another- together for the first time. Suddenly things got quiet.

One by one, they studied each other, as if they were reviewing their "Who's-the-Daddy?" lists.

Not him.

Not him.

Him?

Not me!

Anybody else?

Then they were all looking at me. Every single one of them. My moment of reckoning had come. They'd put up with my request for privacy for nine months, and now they wanted answers.

"L.L., how about that ice?" I asked weakly.

"You thirsty, Sookie? I can grab you something to drink," Quinn offered.

L.L. snorted and headed for the door.

A new nurse from the latest shift suddenly blocked his path. "I'm Nurse Smith."

I could see L.L. was leaning toward her, trying to read her name tag.

"Nurse Smith!" he pronounced confidently.

Nurse Smith, a practical and direct kind of woman, wasted no time. "Are you the daddy?" she faced him squarely, publicly challenging his claim over me as the father of the baby.

L.L. stole a look in my direction, looking for an answer I was not yet ready to give.

"I'm William Compton," he retorted defensively. Clearly he did not want to concede defeat in front of everyone. "I was just heading out to get her some ice."

"Thank you, Mr. Compton, but I can take it from here."

"But I was her birth partner," he persisted, casting a heated look in my direction.

Grasping L.L. by the shoulders, Nurse Smith said slowly, "Well then I'm sure you need some rest too. There is a quiet waiting room at the end of the hall with fold-out lounge chairs."

The others, having watched L.L. get cut down to size by this plucky woman in pink scrubs, seemed buoyed. Sam, grinning, was humming "Sweet Caroline," the song played at the bottom of the 8th inning of every home Red Sox game. Alcide leaned closer to Baby, even breaching the one-foot perimeter around him. And Quinn…well, Quinn looked like he had found a new game on his cell phone.

Scanning the room and sensing the zing and crackle of renewed energy among them, I got the distinct feeling that something else was going on. I mean, sure I understood their amusement in watching L.L. put in his place. But it seemed like there was something more to it. Looking up, I caught Sam's smile beamed at me, laser-like in its focus. He winked. Alcide, too, was watching me and smiling. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was in a bar full of men trying to pick me up.

Huh? That's when it hit me. I realized, at once, that my hospital room- _on the post-partum floor of the hospital_- was full of suitors. I shook my head, physically attempting to shake these crazy thoughts in place. On what planet was I living? What man courts a woman who's just given birth to another man's baby?

Suddenly, it was all too much—the pressure from L.L., the intense attention from Sam and Alcide, Quinn's cluelessness, their curiosity about the father's identity—all of it. In my tired, confused, and post-partum hormonal state, it was hard to believe any of their motives altruistic. Did they think I was needy? Were they here to prey on me, weakened and vulnerable to their advances? These questions latched on hard, wilting my spirit as I slipped lower and lower down the slope of the bed. I was drained.

Nurse Smith turned to me, visually appraising my mental status. Then addressing my suitors, she announced, "Unless you are related to Miss Stackhouse or the baby, I'd like you to leave and allow her to rest."

A bizarre, alternate universe version of the game show To Tell the Truth ensued, with a lot of standing, then sitting back down, and then standing again. (Would the real Baby Daddy please sit down?) While no one in the room could declare fatherhood, no one seemed ready to leave or relinquish a claim on me.

"I just need a private moment with Sookie," Sam asserted.

"Me too," Alcide added.

Quinn, the only one sitting still and not interested in burdening himself with a baby, whistled softly, staying put simply to watch the drama. And L.L., who nearly had been out the door, had managed to make his way past Nurse Smith back to a chair where he sat firmly, his possessiveness flaring wildly now. He was not leaving before anyone else.

Losing her patience quickly, Nurse Smith insisted, "I need some time alone with Sookie."

No one budged.

Seeing that she would need to take further action, Nurse Smith reached for the nearest prop, which happened to be an extra large package of sanitary napkins.

Nothing clears a room of men like feminine hygiene products.

"Thank you," she addressed everyone as they scuttled out of the room.

"Now then," she said, turning to me. "May I get you an icepack?"

I nodded.

She helped me get settled in a comfortable position. Immediately I felt a little better.

"It's time for the little guy to eat. Do you want to give him a bottle or breastfeed?"

I started to cry. She sat next to me on the bed and rested her hand me.

"Okay, there's one thing we nurses say on the maternity ward: No one gets to check out of here until she's had a good cry."

I sobbed harder.

"I have never met one new mom who wasn't overwhelmed in one way or another."

My cries ratcheted up yet another notch, certain that out of all of them, I was the worst mother.

"My love life is a mess and…and…I don't love my baby," I sputtered. There. I admitted it. "And he doesn't have anyone else to love him." I sobbed harder, realizing just how alone in this world he'd be. "And I'm really constipated."

"Well why didn't you say so?" She chuckled. "I can help you with that."

I grimaced, my crying stopped, and expected her to leave to get me a laxative.

Instead, she sat there quietly, rubbing my back for a few minutes.

"Have you spent any quiet time alone with the little guy?"

"No." L.L. had been with me nonstop.

"Well let's fix that right now."

First she untied my gown, pulled the whole thing off, and threw it aside, leaving me naked except for the mesh granny panties that were standard issue on the maternity ward. I giggled through my tears.

"Aren't those great?" she asked.

Then she picked up Baby, unwrapped his swaddling blanket, and pressed his warm body against mine. His little body shifted and squirmed. I gasped, realizing with a start that I was now watching the movements that I had felt when he was inside me. I had wondered what he'd been doing in there. Now I could feel _and_ see it. I waited for another squirm. And then I felt a sudden warm rush and realized I was dripping milk—all over the bed and Baby.

"Oh!"

"Looks like your milk's come in! You just let down. That's a good sign. You and he are already connected. You two are going to make a good team."

She tucked a cloth that looked like a diaper underneath one side and handed me another one for mopping. Milk was dripping out like a leaky faucet.

"Will it stop? Should I get him to latch on now?"

She laughed. "You aren't going to run out any time soon."

"Take your time. When you're ready to feed him, wake him up. He looks pretty cozy, so if you have a hard time waking him, tickle his feet. And if _that_ doesn't work, page me with this button," she said, pointing. "I have a few more tricks up my sleeves." With a purposeful wink, she reached down to pluck Baby's cap off his head, and then strode out of the room.

I looked down at Baby. The last time I had seen his head uncovered had been right after he was born, when his slimy hair had plastered the top of his head. He had been cleaned up in the nursery, and now spiky blond hair stuck straight up all over his head. It was the cutest thing I ever saw. He looked like a fuzzy little porcupine. I reached down to touch its downy softness. It tickled my fingers.

Then I took my hand and stroked his unbelievably smooth skin, marveling over the brand spanking newness of him, and thinking about how little of the world he'd felt. I wondered if I dared pull off his diaper, and figured since I was already wet, it didn't matter much. So I peeled back the tabs and looked down at his perfect little boy parts. Well, I guess I couldn't say they were little. His testicles were huge and swollen, looking comical next to his scrawny legs. I remembered from my reading that they would enlarge because of my hormones, but that the swelling would go down soon. I laughed to myself, knowing the pride his daddy would have taken in any case.

Now that he was fully exposed, Baby started to stir. His mouth opened wide and wavered in the open air, rooting for my nipple. Supporting the back of his head, I pulled him onto my breast. Immediately he suckled in earnest and sputtered as he drew in great mouthfuls of my new milk. The surprise opened his eyes.

And then, suddenly, I was looking for the first time into his eyes. In an instant, I found myself powerless, pulled by his enthralling gaze…mesmerized…

by his intense, hazy blue, summer sky eyes.

They drew me straight into his heart.

I had given life to that heart, nurtured in the center of my body. There was a time when I could hardly believe that within me, a pulsing heart even existed- surreal and intangible as it was—visible only as a flickering light on a computer screen. But here it was now, sustaining life. Still vulnerable and in need of my attention, it was, nonetheless, alive, full of potential, and ready to grow.

I loved him unconditionally.

I felt my breath hitch in my chest as a powerful nor'easter wave of emotion wiped me out. Sputtering, shaking, sandy, and bedraggled, I was stumbling on the shoreline. But it was okay. He and I were going to make it.

In that moment of connection, when I felt the fierce bond between us, I knew what I had to do. I knew I couldn't lie to Baby or hold him back from him his father, regardless of how his father would react to me and the way I had withheld the truth from him. Attempting to shelter our relationship by keeping Baby a secret had been misguided and selfish of me. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have missed tuning my other sense in the direction it was most needed?

So too would living with L.L. be unfair to all of us. Maybe it would be easier in some ways. We'd have financial security. L.L. would care for us both. But I knew I would never feel unbridled love for him. In fact, I wasn't sure I liked the person _I_ was around L.L. Fair or not, I was still angry with him for my financial woes. I suspected he loved me in some ways, but felt a sense of duty and obligation to stay with me. It wasn't the kind of example I wanted to set for my son, my flesh and blood. No. I wanted my son to know Great Love.

With that realization, I began planning what I should have been planning months ago. Under L.L.'s security, I hadn't been pushed to make difficult decisions such as how to pay for childcare, keep my job, finish school, and plan for a more secure future. My head was swimming with possibilities, but it all felt good. I knew it would take a while to work out the kinks, but I also knew that with my determination and intelligence and willingness to work hard, we'd work it out.

I spent the rest of the night with Baby, cooing at him, napping, and feeding him. When I woke up, bright morning sunshine was flooding the room. L.L. was sitting there, smiling at me.

"You looked so peaceful sleeping there. It's the first time I've seen you looking relaxed in a long time."

"Thanks," I said, "Baby and I had a good night together.

L.L. squeezed my leg playfully. "Still no name?"

I hedged. "No. Still haven't figured that one out yet. But come here," I said, patting the bed next to me. "I've made some other decisions I need to tell you about."

The macaroni salad face returned. "Stop that, L.L. Hear me out. And help me scoot over a bit."

L.L. climbed up next to me. I leaned into his chest and realized he was wearing a short sleeve cotton pique polo shirt.

"Is it warm outside?"

He smiled. "Seventy degrees. Forsythia are in bloom." He pointed to an arrangement by the window.

I hugged him. And then I jumped right in, telling him about my night and how Baby and I had bonded and how much I appreciated his support, but that I had decided that Baby and I needed our independence from him. I felt a little bit like I was diving off a cliff, but I also felt confident that I was making the right decision. L.L. listened quietly. I knew that in his own protective style, he wasn't soaking it all in just yet, and that I'd have to be patient with him. When we were both talked out, we sat there for a few more minutes looking at Baby.

"L.L., look at this." I gently pulled off Baby's cap. His hair immediately sprang to life. "Isn't it the cutest thing?"

He smiled wistfully and then pulled me back to him. The baby stirred.

"Sookie?"

"Mmm-hmm?" I was still distracted by my little porcupine.

"Why am I all wet?"

"Oh!" I blushed, looking down and noticing my sopping wet nightgown. "I'm so sorry. My milk came in last night, and there's no controlling it."

"I guess I better hunt down some more scrubs. It's been a regular occurrence over the past few days," he joked, sliding off the bed.

"No, L.L., why don't you head home for a clean shirt and enjoy this day. After all, it might snow again tomorrow."

He hesitated, then leaned in to kiss me goodbye. "All right, Sookie. Call me if you need me." He walked out the door.

And just like that, the proverbial bandage had been ripped off.

Overall, I had a good day. Jason stopped by, apologizing for not coming earlier, and explaining that he had picked up extra work plowing. He, too, was sucked right in by Baby's charms, even tearing up a bit. Later, Tara came by with some homemade whoopie pies. As we worked our way through the batch together, she cackled with me over my story of how my suitors had shown up at the same time. When I shared my birth story, she laughed and aahed and groaned at all the right places.

Nurses came and went as shifts rotated throughout the day, and before I knew it, Nurse Smith was standing beside my bed again.

"You look so much better tonight."

"Thanks for all your help." I couldn't thank her enough.

She handed me some papers. "Has anyone given you these birth certificate and social security papers yet?"

I shook my head. "Do you happen to have an extra pen?"

She pulled one from her pocket. "You'll have to pick out a name," she prodded.

"Oh, right. Of course." I felt flustered and scatterbrained.

"I'll leave you be, but if you need to get out of bed, call me for help." She wagged her finger at me.

I shuffled through the papers aimlessly, lost in thought.

_Summer had dazzled me. Its intensely warm and sensual light had studded the surface of the sea with a blinding, diamond-like display, beguiling me with its beauty. I had overlooked treasures lying in deeper, cooler waters. _

But now I was ready to plunge deep. Really, there were only two men in this little guy's life who mattered most: his daddy and my brother. And that's when I knew what I needed to do. Without pausing, I grasped the pen firmly and wrote Baby's name for the first time in large, clear letters: Eric Jason Stackhouse.

There! Before I lost my momentum, I wrote in the space asking for his father's name: Eric Northman. For now, I'd have to leave his address as unknown. But I'd done it. I'd taken another step toward undoing the damage I'd caused by hiding and lying. I had no idea what kind of reaction Eric would have to us, but he had a right to know, and my son had a right to have a chance at loving his father.

As for myself, I'd made mistakes, but I still deserved a chance at Great Love, the all-encompassing kind full of passion and sensuality as well as affection and deep and unconditional emotional ties—from sky to sea. I would have to work hard, but I'd stop at nothing to share Great Love with Eric.

Before I could change my mind, I buzzed Nurse Smith and handed her the papers. She folded them up and smiled. "Would you like me to hand you the baby?"

"Yes, please."

I felt so excited now I could barely contain myself. My whole body was shivering, and in the brief moment it took her to lift the baby and hand him to me, I felt like I might burst. I pulled the little guy in close.

"E.J.," I said out loud for the first time. He'd be E.J. for now, for the sake of our privacy, until I could tell Eric. I peppered his cheeks with kisses and reveled in the deep and intense love I felt for him.

"E.J." I said again. His eyes blinked open.

"I'm going to get your daddy."

* * *

A/N Thanks to R.G., whose real-life adventures in getting pantsed inspired said scene.

Thanks to makesmyheadspin for her encouragement, seasoned advice, and patience with my first-time jitters.

Any errors contained herein are the sole responsibility of one computer-hacking schemer and conniver whose initials are L.L..


	2. The Greatest Show on Earth

So, wow! I'm really excited this story has gotten such a good response. (This is me still smiling.) Thanks, everyone!

Special thanks to **makesmyheadspin** for agreeing to stay on as beta. She didn't know what she was in for when she signed on for an O/S, but I'm so glad she's offered to help me out with the rest of this story.

On with the show…

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Chapter 2: **The Greatest Show On Earth**

It was something I'd never seen before looking out the front window of Merlotte's Diner.

Over the course of all of the years I'd been working for Sam, I'd seen many things looking out that window that spanned the entire front of the diner. In many ways, the stretch of sidewalk in front of Merlotte's was the town common, the center of all North Dormer activity. Sure, we had an official town common, a sprawling grassy area presided over by the town hall, white-washed, simple, but stately in a classical kind of way. The matching bandstand, in the center, was the presumed site of all official functions and town-sponsored entertainment, especially in the summer. But in fact the weekly concerts and colonial re-enactments, complete with period costumes, was more of a show for the tourists, who picnicked on the lawn, actually read the inscriptions on the statues, and snapped pictures of themselves in front of anything they thought was quintessential New England.

What they didn't realize was that here, in front of Merlotte's, was the real spot for a show.

Sometimes people would blunder onto this stage, going about their daily business as though no one were watching from within Merlotte's. In the summer, tourists would wander by, lost on their way to the beach. Others, clutching road food guidebooks would stop by the front door to check out the menu. And then there were the truly unaware folks: the nose pickers, butt scratchers, cell phone talkers, and lipstick appliers, not to mention the lovers, either kissing or quarreling.

But the real performers came with a clear motivation for self-promotion of one kind or another. Maxine Fortenberry, for example, was a master at this game. Anytime the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution made a charitable donation, however small, she would be out there, under Merlotte's green awning, posing for a photographer from the North Dormer Tribune. And when proposed budget cuts threatened a reduction in the town's police department, Andy Bellefleur had proven his importance to town security by arresting Maudette Pickens during the lunch rush for failing to pay her parking tickets, going so far as to press her body up against the glass when he handcuffed her. Even L.L., generally aloof to the inner workings of North Dormer's social structure, had jogged by countless times, shirtless and in athletic shorts, when he'd gone through that phase when he was supposedly training for the Cape Cod triathlon. (He'd backed out when he'd realized that he wasn't cut out for the saltwater swim.)

So I'd been no stranger to a show, orchestrated or not.

But never—ever- had I seen someone parallel park a red Corvette.

It was a tight squeeze too. For sure, I wouldn't have even tried it in my little compact car, though that's not saying much. It's not that I _can't_ parallel park (so don't blame me for falling into what some might call a stereotypical female behavior). It's just that my car has something called "power assist," which offers little assistance, if you ask me. Nobody, not even the patient drivers (if there are any in Massachusetts), has any tolerance to wait for me to wrangle my car into a parking spot. So no, I wouldn't have wanted any part of the scene I would have created right there in the front of Merlotte's.

Yet this car, the red Corvette, hovered for only the briefest of moments before slipping backward, tucking in its long hood, and filling the space in one smooth pass.

I disliked the driver before I even saw him.

Within seconds, he was getting out of the car, though it was more like he was unfurling himself, really. Standing up straight, he eventually reached his full height, towering over the car's roof as he ran his hands through his slightly wavy blond hair that barely brushed the top of his shoulders. I didn't need to look at him for long to realize he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen, managing to look both boyishly charming and badass alluring at the same time.

He was the kind of guy who could—I imagined— draw in any female in spite of that dangerous edge to him.

Nope. I wasn't buying it.

No guy with those kinds of good looks and well-developed muscles gets through life without an equally well-developed ego. Can you imagine all the attention and praise this guy must get on a daily basis just for looking good? Eventually, all of that flattery and adoring feedback must sink in deep, right? He must believe with every pumped-up fiber of his body that he's a special gift to the earth.

Sheez.

I'd had my fill of confident men lately. Nothing but trouble. I ran my hands down the front of my apron, smoothing out the wrinkles and wiping sticky molasses goo from my fingers.

"I hate these beans!" I griped at Lafayette.

Lafayette, eyes glazed over, had noticed Corvette Man, now striding toward Merlotte's.

"Seriously, Lafayette?"

The driver had approached Merlotte's, paused suddenly, and seemed to be looking from the entrance to the exit, apparently not knowing how to enter the restaurant. I snickered. Good looks didn't always partner up with intelligence.

Lafayette shot back, "I told you Quinn was a mistake. No reason to take it out on every other man."

"Quinn's got nothing to do with this."

I was unwilling to admit it out loud, but Quinn, for sure, had been a mistake. And if I was really honest with myself, I'd known it from the start. Quinn made a living DJ-ing, mostly for weddings, bar mitzvahs, and sweet sixteens. Once, (and only once), he'd gotten a "big break" and appeared as a guest DJ at a popular dance club in Boston, where he'd called himself "Q Ball," on account of his bald head (wince). After that one appearance, he seemed to believe he was an urban music expert and dragged me around to a bunch of really loud performances, which he'd always describe as either "hot" or "wicked hot." I got tired of it really fast. I'm not the kind of girl who likes to kiss and tell, but truthfully, his over-confidence in the bedroom had been darn annoying too. He'd nicknamed his manhood "Moby," which I thought was hackneyed and uncreative and brought to mind all kinds of unfortunate literary allusions anytime we had sex. (Sperm whale, there she blows, and…well, you get the picture).

I noticed that Laf had had the good sense not to bring L.L. into this conversation, though in fact, it had been L.L.'s major blunder with my nest egg, not to mention all of his uptight formalities and hang-ups, that had driven me to Quinn's devilish, carefree, immature attitude in the first place.

Lafayette leaned in to kiss my cheek, easing any hurt feelings stirred up by his blunt words. "It's time to get back in the game." Yesterday he had threatened to send me one of my cousin's strippers.

I looked to the front of the diner. Driver Boy had apparently figured out how to work the door, though he'd entered through the exit. Arlene and Holly were hovering, supposedly checking in on their tables at the front of the restaurant. Holly was a single mom who could sorely use a night out on the town. Arlene, though, was probably just doing some sightseeing that would serve a side purpose of making her husband René jealous while he was there on lunch break.

Amelia, another waitress, joined us. "You two enjoying the view?"

I grumbled.

"How about working some of your magic charm, Amelia?" Lafayette prompted. Amelia had been known for her success setting up long-lasting relationships, my friends Tara and JB being a prime example.

"I don't know what you two were talking about, but someone marked the entrance with a 'Please use other door' sign, and the exit with an 'Exit only' sign."

I rolled my eyes. That would explain Pretty Boy's confusion. Did I mention that it was April Fools' Day?

It was going to be a long day.

I'd offered Sam to come in for the late breakfast shift and then stay until past the dinner rush to help him clean up, knowing that there would be a few extra messes resulting from the pranks that were sure to happen today. It would be a crappy shift, but I needed the money, and Sam was a good friend who'd bailed me out of more than one mess.

"Sookie!" Lafayette prompted. "Looks like table 4 needs his bread and beans." He shoved a steaming crock and basket toward me. "Go get him."

The "Boston Beans," slowly baked in a sweet molasses sauce, along with the brown bread side, were one of the draws of Sam's diner. Tourists came in specifically for them. Locals, on the other hand, barely touched them, but since they came free with every meal, if they didn't show up, they were sure to complain. After years of serving them, I'd had it up to here with their sweet, cloying smell and sticky sauce that stained all of my clothes.

I loaded my tray and, bracing myself, turned to face the unusually friendly and boisterous crowd. Merlotte's was the place to go on April Fools' Day. Ever since Sam had advertised left-handed lobster roll specials on April 1 one year, people flocked here for a bargain and a good time, asking inane questions such as, "Can I get that lobstah roll special even if I'm right-handed?" I'm telling you, people around here are desperate for any kind of human contact as they start their spring thaw. Today was no exception. Although the morning had been rainy and chilly, an unexpected afternoon warm-up had cranked up everyone's spirits and put them in a giddy, near drunken mood. These were New Englanders come unwrapped. And for today, I was their designated driver.

"Hi, Sookie!" Hoyt called from across the room. He, Jason, and their supervisor, Codfish Hennessey, apparently were on their lunch break. I waved.

By the time I got to Table 4 near the front of the restaurant, Arlene had already ushered her new friend to one of her tables on the other side of the room.

I passed the beans and bread off to a table still waiting for entrees, then took the opportunity to have a seat with Millie DaSilva, one of my guests who was there as part of the meal program I ran. I leaned across the table to give her a hug.

"Millie, did anyone from Elder Services call you?" I had helped her submit some paperwork to get some transportation arranged so she wouldn't have to spend money on expensive cabs to get to the grocery store and doctor's appointments. Public transportation was either not available or entirely impractical.

"No, dear."

"I'll give them a call and see if I can speed things up for you." I reached into my apron pocket to pull out a card from my Big Book of Everything, a calendar with a zippered cover bursting with scraps of paper, business cards, informational pamphlets, and the like. I always carried this book, along with some pens and my waitressing notepad, in the front pocket of my apron just for these occasions. Usually I managed this bulky jumble fairly well. But today, as I was pulling out a card, my Big Book of Everything dropped underneath the table, spilling, well, everything. I bent to pick up the mess.

And that's when I felt him.

I sensed the sheer bulk of him before anything else. Though I hadn't yet seen his black leather boots, muddy and scuffed, or hadn't yet noticed the way he smelled clean and dark, like a moss-lined path deep in the forest, or hadn't yet heard his quiet, but firm voice that would rumble in **my** chest, I knew he was there. Simply the mass of his large body, holding firmly against the din and motion of the other bodies around us, created a still and quiet space, a protected cove in the middle of a white-capped sea.

Startled, I bolted upright and froze, abruptly facing his belt buckle. And it was here that my eyes rested.

Slung low on his hips, the soft black belt looked like an old friend. The ridges and worn dents and bumps showed its regular habit, the notch he'd probably used day after day. I had the strange compulsion to feel its smooth sheen where his hands had been, where his hands had worn in that patina touch by touch.

Eventually, though who knows how much time passed, some distracting noise from the diner, or maybe even a throat clear from this man himself, made me tear my eyes away from their comfortable position to travel up his chest. He was wearing a vintage Johnny Cupcakes t-shirt with its signature crossbones-topped-by-a-cupcake design. Looking up, finally, toward his face, I met a pair of eyes looking down at me curiously with a hint of amusement in them.

Oh. Right. I shook my head back to reality. Corvette Man. Trouble with a capital T.

"Sookie! Sookie!" My attention was drawn away to René, who was passing by. "You got something on your cheek!" He winked at me.

I grimaced, an expression that did not go unnoticed. René needed new material.

"He seems like a scary guy." He spoke.

"Oh, he's scary all right." I wasn't exaggerating. "He threatens me like an April Fools' terrorist every year. Excuse me one moment." I turned back to my lunch guest. "Mrs. DaSilva, here's my card. Please call me if you haven't heard anything by Thursday. I'll follow up again if I need to."

Standing up now, I faced the chest of this soaring man. I still needed to crane my neck up to look into his eyes.

"You must be Sookie Stackhouse," he said.

"Yes," I answered warily.

"I was told to come here and ask for you."

Startled for the second time now, I gave him another once over. These were the words people knew to say if they were in need of assistance. Could it be that he had come here for a free meal? Though his clothes were dirty, caked with mud and wet in places, slightly torn at one knee, it was clear that these were no yesterday's hand-me-downs. No, they looked like they had come right out of one of Tara's fashion magazines. That Rough Guy image didn't come easily or cheaply.

But what annoyed me even more was realizing that he probably had worn these expensive clothes knowing he'd get dirty, but not really caring whether he'd need to replace them with another equally expensive set. In fact, the more that I thought about it, his Corvette included, the more I realized that this man, this cocky, arrogant, and—well, yes—very handsome man, was no more indigent than a lottery winner at a feast. Could he be trying to take advantage of me? Quickly, the anger inside me built up and spilled out.

I stepped up to him and poked at his chest, pushing him away from Mrs. DaSilva to avoid causing a scene near her. In my loudest stage whisper, I sputtered, "Look, I don't know who you are, but the gravy train has left the station."

"Gravy train?" he smirked.

"Yeah. No free meal ticket for you, buster."

"Buster?" he smirked again.

It was the smirk that infuriated me most, that smug little smile whose sole purpose seemed to be to taunt me. Who did he think he was? I wish I could say that in the heat of the moment, I was one of those people who could really hold it together and stay calm and rational. No, that wasn't me, especially when I thought someone was trying to take advantage of me. And he was pushing all of my buttons at once. I was dangerously close to a meltdown. (Gravy train? Buster?) I winced at my own words. Yeah. Dangerously close.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"Eric Northman."

"And what do you want?"

"If we could go somewhere a little more private, I'd be happy to tell you." He glanced around the restaurant, seeming to notice that the volume had notched down as diners in our immediate vicinity had caught wind of our heated discussion.

"This is a joke, right?"

If he thought I'd have any kind of private chat with him, he had seriously underestimated me. I'd seen enough of this arrogant creep. What kind of a fool did he think I was? Fool! And that's when it hit me. April Fools' Day. Sweet Jesus! Who had sent him here? Jason? Lafayette? Lafayette! He'd teased me about sending me one of Claude's strippers. That might explain the long blond hair. And the red Corvette.

And that bulge in his pants.

A curious kind of expectant quiet had settled over the diner. The volume had been turned down yet another notch. I felt like I was being watched. Someone was expecting a show. I didn't know exactly who, though I suspected Lafayette. But if not him, someone in this diner was waiting for this prank to unfold. I would give it to them. All of them.

"I'm sorry? A joke?" he asked.

Oh, he was good at keeping a straight face. His features were so placid they couldn't possibly be real. They had to be composed. Yep. Definitely a put-on. And that's when I knew exactly what I would do.

"Yeah. Like this kind of joke."

My voice louder now, so that the whole diner would witness, I decided to take control of the situation, to let everyone in the diner know I'd taken enough crap and wouldn't take any more. On this April Fools' Day, this woman was no joke.

"Let me show you."

I stood behind him, pressing my breasts against his back and bringing my arms up to his shoulders to slip the black leather jacket off his shoulders.

"I figured maybe you'd do something like this first—you know, tease me with a little disrobing, undo a buckle maybe. This GQ look you've got going on is a little unfortunate, frankly. I think I would have preferred a police officer, or a cowboy, or even a Viking. Oh, yeah! With your blond hair and blue eyes! There's a good one! Definitely a Viking!"

My hands, curiously enough, were now touching that very belt that I had admired only moments ago. By now, the entire diner was watching. Catcalls from around the room simultaneously broke the silence and deepened it. No one was talking.

"Miss Stackhouse..."

"Naughty, naughty, Mr. Northman! Let's just get to the final act, okay, so these people can go on and enjoy their lunches. And let's not forget this is a family restaurant." I pulled a bill out of my tip money to stuff it in his jeans. That's what they do at strip clubs, right? In a grand finale-like way, I reached around to grab at his crotch, searching for some kind of gag object shoved down there, like a stuffed banana or something.

I groped...and found...something...that felt...like...

a penis.

A large, but very real penis.

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**A/N Is Johnny Cupcakes well known outside of the Boston area? **shop (dot) johnnycupcakes (dot) com/story/

**Thanks again, everybody! I anticipate this story will go somewhere around 20-25 chapters, depending on how I divide them up. All but two chapters are written in at least rough form, and I'm planning on posting every 1-2 weeks. Reviews are much appreciated!  
**

**Disclaimer:** _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris, and I am not receiving any monetary compensation through their use. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._


	3. That Was Then, This Is Now

**A/N When I posted Ch. 2 last week, I meant to give a heads up that this story is going to continue to include flashbacks (and then promptly forgot).**

**Chapter 3 picks up where Ch. 2 ends, on the first day Eric & Sookie meet, and then jumps forward to Sookie & E.J. in the hospital...**

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Chapter 3: **That Was Then, This Is Now  
**

"Why didn't you stop me?" I hissed, drowned out by the howls and loud laughter around me. I had reached embarrassment overload, the point at which the heat of shame and humiliation turns to cold numbness. Frostbitten, I would be feeling the full brunt of the icy-fiery burn later.

"Why would I have stopped you?" He smirked.

I ignored his flirtation. He was flirting with me, right? I was embarrassed, not stupid, my recent actions notwithstanding. "Who did you say sent you?"

"I didn't."

I threw up my arms in exasperation. He seemed to be enjoying toying with me in the same way a cat might bat around a mouse before going in for the kill. Maybe I deserved it, but it still infuriated me.

I didn't even try to hide the annoyance in my voice. "Okay. So who sent you?"

"Had Peabody."

Big uh-oh. Had Peabody was a long-time family friend, going back to when Gran first started visiting the Cape even before my dad was born. I would need to salvage this situation in a big, huge way.

"Mr. Northman, I'm sorry." Gran had taught me to admit when I was wrong, and I was sure that publicly molesting someone—calling the entire diner's attention to us, rubbing against him like an animal in heat, and grabbing his package—would qualify as a pretty big whoopsie. I extended my hand.

My arm outstretched, I awaited his grasp, feeling the whip and whir of the last few frenzied moments of my life suddenly halted.

He stepped forward, his hips closing in on my hand. And then—finally—he took hold of my hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "After that introduction, I'd say we're on a first name basis, wouldn't you?" His eyes bore down at me, smoothly and quietly. There was barely a ripple in his composure.

Under almost any other circumstance, I probably would have laughed in his face. Did he think that kind of cheesy routine would work on me? If I didn't already have a mouthful of humble pie, which I suspected I would be eating all afternoon, I might have come back with a snarky remark, something like...like...oh, hell this was a big piece of humble pie.

I picked up Eric's jacket off the floor and led him to the only empty booth as a few remaining catcalls and whistles sounded from across the room. I held up my hand in a half-wave, half-halt kind of gesture, as if to acknowledge, "Yeah, yeah. Real funny, I know. But the show's over now, folks."

Eric took the jacket from my arms and reached in to pull out a business card with the name Leclerq, Northman, & Associates and slid it across the table toward me as he explained, "I'm renting one of the dune shacks in Provincetown from Had."

Had worked for a nonprofit group that administered a motley collection of dune shacks within the Cape Code National Seashore. They really were shacks—no running water, no electricity, minimal furnishings—and held together by a patchwork of reclaimed cedar planks and the fervent will of the renters who fought to keep them from being razed. On a good day, I'd call them ramshackle at best. But their setting was unparalleled, hidden from civilization among the rolling dunes spiked with beach grasses. They were a favorite of artists and the like who wanted to get away and convene with nature and their craft.

I was glad to be distracted from my blunder. "How long have you been renting a shack?" I asked, knowing the waiting list was miles long. He'd settled back, leaning against the wall to stretch out his long legs diagonally, comfortable in his own body even tucked into a cramped spot.

"Three years. My architecture firm is in Beacon Hill, but I come to the south shore a lot. So during the summer, I move my base down here."

"Beacon Hill," I blurted out.

Actually, I said it more like a snort, not even bothering to disguise my scorn. Beacon Hill was a historic district in Boston, one of the most expensive places to own property in a town full of expensive neighborhoods. Think Boston Brahmin. He was wealthy. Way out of my league. I didn't know why Had had sent him my way, but at that moment, I knew there was little I could do for him, except maybe serve him some lunch.

"_Manners, Sookie_," Gran would have admonished. Acting as my own puppet master, I tugged at the features of my face, transforming my grimace into a perky smile. Eric, meanwhile, had ignored my obvious gaffe.

"Can I get you anything to eat? Lunch is on me." As much as I disdained his wealth, after the way I had behaved, it was the least I could do, though it killed me to know it would be coming out of my tips for the day.

"So the gravy train hasn't left the station?"

Cocky bastard. (And just to make things clear, when I say "cocky," I am merely referring to his arrogant self-confidence and nothing more.)

Eric had picked up a menu. His hands were huge, just like the rest of him. Yeah, that too. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks just thinking about it. But oddly enough, he had a certain kind of grace I don't normally associate with men, at least not with men who wear leather and drive a Corvette. Does it sound strange to call him graceful?

At the same time all of these thoughts were running through my head, I was watching Eric's fingers lightly skimming and circling across the surface of the menu, probing at the edges and folds, and turning it in his hands. Around and around. Around and around…

He glanced up. I felt like he'd just listened in on my private conversation with myself and blushed.

"Don't eat out much?" I went on counter-attack. He still hadn't opened the menu. "Would you like me to show you how a menu works?"

"_Manners, Sookie_," I counseled myself. Truth was, though I'd tried to contain all of the embarrassment and other confusing feelings this man brought out of me, I was spilling over emotionally, pouring out the unrefined, impulsive parts of me. And the more I revealed about my flawed inner workings, the more exposed I felt and the more I spilled. Talk about a vicious cycle.

Without a word, he handed the menu to me. I could see, quickly, that someone had glued the damn thing together. He handed me the rest of the stack stored with the condiments. They too were glued shut.

I sighed heavily, knowing I'd be assembling more menus late into the night. "So how 'bout I give you the run-down of the specials and we'll take it from there?"

He nodded.

"Let's see…"

I trailed off, thinking at once about the protein he would need to take care of that athletic body of his, not obnoxiously muscle-bound, but firm and sculpted under the stretch of his t-shirt. With our difference in height, my head could probably tuck in right underneath the solid mass of his chest…hmm…

Snapping out of my lapse, I hated my thoughts and started babbling.

"You don't look like a salad or pub food kind of guy, so I'll skip the lobster roll special. It's too warm of a day for clam chowder, which is a shame because it's really good. Scrod is just too weird. I mean, what is scrod anyway? There's no fish in the sea called a scrod. The lobsters are messy, and I doubt you'd wear a lobster bib. So how 'bout the prime rib along with today's side, roasted butternut squash, and a baked potato? No sour cream. I'm guessing that you can do without the beans and brown bread, but I'll bring you some corn bread instead. And some Indian pudding for dessert."

He didn't actually look like an Indian pudding kind of guy, but I threw it out there to see what he'd do with it.

"What will I have to drink?"

"Just water." I pointed to the glass already on the table. I really had no idea, but it would save me a trip.

"Okay," he said as I was already walking away. But then calling to me, he added, "Oh, and Sookie, skip the Indian pudding."

Hmmph.

I passed by René's table on the way back to the kitchen. He called out, "Sookie, on your cheek! It's still there!"

"René, you're killing me!"

I returned with the corn bread. Eric nodded his head toward a framed photograph on the wall immediately next to him.

"Yeah, Sam's a huge Red Sox fan." That was an understatement. He was insanely proud of his picture with Curt Schilling, pitcher.

"Really?" He pointed.

I leaned in closer, noticing, for the first time, that someone had Photoshopped Sam to make it look like he was wearing a Yankees jersey and holding a pennant with the year 1918 stamped on it. 1918, as everyone around here knew, was the start of a painfully long period in which the Red Sox failed to clinch the World Series championship. Some attributed the stretch of unrealized dreams to the sale of Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees, a mistake referred to as the "Curse of the Bambino." Whatever it was, fans had suffered a lifetime of shattered baseball dreams until 2004, when their stunning and unprecedented comeback from a three-game deficit in the playoffs led them to a sweep of the Series. This was a culture of rabid fandom bred right into their DNA.

"Oh! I think I'll take care of this myself before Sam sees it." I hated to think about how Sam, generally a mature and reasonable man, would handle this prank.

I reached across the table to grab at the picture, which seemed to have caught on the hook. Meanwhile, Eric, his head turned sideways, his face so close that I could feel the heat of his breath on my hand, watched me for a moment before reaching over to help. Distracted by the glint of prickly stubble I was just noticing on his chin, I jumped when his hands brushed against mine. And then suddenly I was aware that my cleavage was practically shoved in his face. The photo clattered across the tabletop as I leaped back.

And this was how the bond seemed to be going between us—a rubber band-like connection that stretched to its max before snapping back. At this moment, he seemed to be sensing the way I had been knocked off kilter, both literally and figuratively, and took the opportunity to prod for personal information.

"Sookie. That's an unusual name."

I took the bait. "Yeah, that's my mama's doing. She had stars in her eyes and her heart in warmer places. Some say I'm like a fish out of water around here, but that doesn't make much sense to me since we live on the water." Even as the words burbled out of my mouth, I hated their raw, unsophisticated ooze. And I hated the way I was feeling "less than," my psychic sore spot of social class smarting.

My rambling was making little sense, which seemed to be amusing him, judging by the flickering smile behind his eyes. They were an unusual shade of blue. Really stunning blue eyes…

Without another word, I darted away, escaping his predatory posturing and running toward the shelter of the kitchen.

"Laf, do you think you could spare me the lecture about how my insecurities lead me to do really stupid things and get right to the part where we're joking about it? 'Cuz I don't think I can handle any lecturing right now."

"Grabbing a man's crotch is not exactly what I had in mind when I said you should get back in the game."

At that moment, Sam entered the kitchen from the back door leading outside. "I don't want to know what this is about. Just please tell me I'm not going to be sued for sexual harassment."

Looking at me pointedly, Laf said nothing more than, "Order up! Table 4."

Since the kitchen was clearly no longer a safe haven, I grabbed the food and darted back to Eric.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Pushing his card toward me for the second time that day, he explained. "I specialize in old homes. I help people with historic properties make repairs and update and remodel their homes and…"

Pointedly leaving his card on the table, I interrupted him, understanding now his attraction to me and immediately uninterested in hearing any more. "Do you have any idea how many people are interested in my property? It's the one thing I own that everyone seems to want a piece of. And as I've told the long line of people who got to me before you did, I'm not interested. And that's my final word."

I shoved his plate closer to him, urging him to drop the subject and eat. This would clearly end all contact we would have with each other. End of subject.

It was true. At least once a month, either a private individual or someone representing someone else with commercial interests, wanted to buy my little piece of heaven. And they all had deep pockets, but didn't dig too deep, thinking I was an easy target, in need of cold hard cash. He was just like the rest of them…except for the fact that he was extremely easy on the eyes…but this would be the end of that.

By some strange twist in circumstances, I had come to own this property, as if it were meant to be mine. I didn't take that lightly. It hadn't been in the family for long. Gran had inherited it from a dear, eccentric, wealthy friend who left it to her when he died. She'd passed it on to me, knowing how much I cherished it, and opted to give Jason cash instead.

Although no mortgage remained on the house, the property taxes, insurance, and upkeep were enormous, especially since Gran, for all her strengths, had overlooked maintenance over the years. She had left me a fund for handling these costs, but now, that money was gone, thanks to a series of really poor investment decisions.

"I'm not here to buy your property. But I would like to see it. Had told me it's a remarkable old saltbox. I hear the view is stunning, too. I'd love to take a look around to see how it was constructed, what materials were used... get an idea of how old it is. It's a personal interest of mine, and also it helps me with my clients. Sometimes we run into tricky remodeling issues. Actually, that almost always happens. But getting to know these houses better helps me anticipate problems so we're not hit with as many surprises. Sometimes I even have clients who are interested in designing new houses that look old—you know—for those who don't want a McMansion kind of house, but are more interested in old world craftsmanship. Those are my favorite kinds of projects."

It was the most he'd said to me since he'd walked through the door. He sounded like a different person, clearly passionate about his work. I believed him.

Maybe.

He was still too good looking.

On the other hand, he earned extra points for appreciating the unique character of my home.

I didn't know what to say. So I copped out. "Excuse me. I need to check on some other tables." Then I avoided him.

Eventually, though, as it became clear that Eric was finished eating, I needed to go by and check on him. He started to slide out of the booth as I neared him. He pushed his card, still on the table, toward me one more time. "Call me anytime. I'll be around all summer, as soon as the weather stays warm."

I really did not want the ball left in my court, so I pushed the responsibility back on him. "Feel free to drop by whenever and take a look. Usually I'm off on Tuesdays, and on other days during the week, I'm around in the mornings until about 10:00. And if I'm not there, then I'm here." Right. That just about summed up my life.

Eric stood. His size and height continued to keep me off guard, but there he was again, hovering over me and looking down. And then suddenly he was reaching toward me, gently wiping my cheek with his thumb. I didn't jerk back. In fact, what startled me more than anything else was the fact that I let him touch me. Whatever had been slipping between us took hold at that moment. I felt the catch of something. What it was, I didn't know. But something had changed, even if it was only a tenuous little toehold.

"Well I tried," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're wearing the chef's shade of lipstick on your cheek."

"Oh!" My hands flew to my cheeks, swiping vigorously, probably smearing Laf's signature Raspberry Infatuation.

"See you," he said. And with that, he ambled out the door.

Immediately, I headed back to the kitchen for another respite. Laf was quiet, for once, which seemed to be what I needed at the time, to allow the inner turmoil to subside. Grabbing a cold drink of water, I noticed Eric was still outside, holding a piece of paper, cell phone to ear, and circling his car, seemingly inspecting it closely.

"Looks like Speed Racer might have gotten a taste of Main St.." Lafayette broke the silence. Fender benders on the narrow street happened every day. I wondered how much Corvette repairs cost.

The rest of the day passed without much incident, the crowd apparently having been sated by my show, though it was busy. I cleaned up more than my share of salt-and-pepper shakers turned upside down, mopped up a big water mess in the bathroom, and on several occasions, peeled a sign off Arlene's back that said, "I work at Durgin Park on my nice days," a reference to the Boston diner's well-known brand of surly wait staff.

At the end of the dinner rush, when we'd settled down into the trickle-in, quiet kind of crowd that would sustain the rest of the evening, I finally had a chance to sit down and take a break. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. Attempting to retrieve my messages, I grumbled when I realized that someone had changed my language feature to Portuguese and that I'd have to figure out how to switch it back. In Portuguese.

There was only one new message. I barely recognized his voice. Gone was the solid assuredness. His tone cracked with annoyance and hinted at vulnerability.

"Hello I'm calling for Larry. My name is Eric Northman. I'd like to talk with him about the damage he noted that he caused to my car. I've been unable to locate the damage, but I'd like him to call me back as soon as possible." And then he'd left both his cell phone and office numbers. Twice.

I cringed. Was he really naïve enough to fall for that prank? Who, I wondered, had put the fake note there? With my number? The image of his circling his car, scrutinizing it for damage that didn't really exist, filtered back, now funny.

"Hunh," I mused. That's interesting.

So he _did_ have an Achilles Heel. So he _wasn't_ cocky to the core. So there _was_ a real person in there. Just a hint of it was enough for me. He'd intrigued me, for sure. I smiled, knowing I'd be seeing him again, and that this could turn out to be an interesting summer after all.

* * *

E.J. slept beside me in his bassinette, his sweet lips pursing and smooching rhythmically on an imaginary nipple. The little guy was already a champion eater, latched on to me during his every waking hour, or so it seemed. I'll spare you the comparison I could easily make with his daddy.

This morning I would be discharged from the hospital, sent out into the world with this new little life whose every need I would be tending. I tried not to think about it too much, knowing that I'd just be ramping up the anxiety and not helping either of us.

"One step at a time," I told myself.

So here I sat, holding my cell phone, hesitating briefly right on the cusp of the next step, before finally pushing the buttons that would flick me back through time. I skipped back through a year's worth of saved messages until I landed on this one, from Eric, asking for Larry.

Yeah, I'd saved it. I just couldn't force myself to erase it, though I hadn't listened to it since that first day I met him.

His voice startled me. For so long, during the months since I'd severed our ties—all during the life-changing rites of passage of pregnancy and childbirth—he had lived only in my imagination, fading from a bold presence to the whisperings of dried leaves scuttling across the pavement. In his place, my own imaginings and musings of him had taken over, becoming louder and morphing along with me as time passed.

But I had changed so much that my memories of him had become more of my own creation than anything based on reality. This saved recording sounded like a stranger to me. It was unsettling and jarring to bring his real voice back into my head, not the one I'd cultivated over time. This was the real Eric, a living human, his own person independent from me.

So long ago, I had saved this message, amused by the way it had revealed his vulnerabilities. But now I no longer heard the humor, knowing the way I would soon hurt him. My pen scratched out his office number on my notepad. His cell phone lost to the waves one afternoon last summer, he hadn't gotten a new one before we'd parted. This number was the only one I had for him.

I dialed it before I lost my nerve.

Within one ring, a man answered.

"Leclerq and Associates," the voice said.

* * *

**A/N Hello? Did you make it all the way here to the bottom? Thanks for reading! And thanks for all of the reviews & author/story alerts/favorites & PMs on the last chapter. It really does help keep me plugging away at it.**

**Disclaimer:** _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris, and I am not receiving any monetary compensation through their use. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._


	4. Keep Your Friends Close

**Recap of previous chapter:** Sookie remembers the first day she met Eric, when he came to the diner to ask whether he could see her antique saltbox house. Eric played coy with her, not letting her off the hook for grabbing his crotch, but got his own taste of April Fools' Day. Back to the present, in the hospital, Sookie calls the only number she has for Eric, at his architecture firm in Boston, and hears a voice answering, "Leclerq and Associates."

**A few things to know about New England that are referenced in this chapter:**  
The _Big Dig_ was an enormous roadway project that included digging a tunnel to reroute traffic under the city of Boston.  
A _bubbler/bubblah_ is a water fountain.  
A _clicker/clickah_ is a TV remote.  
A _frappe_ is a blended drink with ice cream, milk, and flavoring.  
The _Freedom Trail_ is a 2.5-mile painted red line/brick walkway running through the city that directs visitors to 16 historical sites, such as the Paul Revere house.  
_No sir/no suh _means "I don't believe it."  
_Pisser/pissah_ means "awesome;" usually it's preceded by _wicked.  
Tonic_ is soda.

And last, but not least,** thanks to makesmyheadspin**, for catching an overabundance of 'thats' in this chapter, for putting up with all of my tweaked revisions, and for giving me this advice: Never apologize for adding more 'Eric.' Hope you enjoy...

* * *

Chapter 4: **Keep Your Friends Close**

"Leclerq & Associates," the man's voice insisted, repeating itself.

"H-hello," I stammered, noticing the conspicuous absence of the name 'Northman' in the agency's title. "I, I'd like to speak with Eric Northman, please."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Northman is no longer an associate of our agency." He spoke in a clipped, business-like tone, in the same sort of way a catalogue salesperson might tell me the sweater I had wanted in medium was not available in red. Without prompting, he added, "At this time, I am not able to provide any forwarding information."

"He's not still working there?" I had heard the man the first time, but the unexpected news had bounced off my brain. I wasn't ready to let it sink in just yet.

"No." Nothing about his tone softened the news, and worse still, he was giving me no hook to grab onto for more details.

"Is he still in the Boston area?"

"I have no information regarding his whereabouts." He wasn't wavering. In fact, he seemed about as intractable as rush hour traffic through the Big Dig. In the background, I could hear the distinct sound of the tapping of a keyboard.

Probing for anything—any little clue—I asked, "Is he still working as an architect?"

"I have no information regarding his activities."

"Hmmm…can you tell me when he left your agency?"

"As I have said, I am not able to provide any other information at this time." Now the voice was annoyed.

I was running out of inane questions, but wasn't ready to give up yet. "Do you know anyone I might be able to contact who would know where he is now?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge any information regarding the agency's business and personal contacts. May I help you with anything else?"

My time was running out. I was lucky he hadn't already hung up on me. He didn't sound like the chatty kind of guy, but maybe I could loosen him up with a little banter. "I'm sorry. I didn't get your name?"

"Andre."

"Andre, my name is Sookie Stackhouse…"

"Sookie Stackhouse?"

"Yes."

"One moment please."

_What? _

The phone clicked and then a woman's voice spoke. "Ms. Stackhouse?"

"Yes."

"My name is Sophie-Anne Leclerq. I understand you are looking for Mr. Northman."

"Yes. It's important. Could you tell me how to get in touch with him or at least pass along a message that I called?"

She ignored me. "How do you know Mr. Northman?"

Now I had the distinct impression that I was the one being worked over for information. "Uh…we're personal acquaintances."

"Personal?"

"Y-Yes." I faltered. _He's the father of my baby._

"And you've known each other since…"

_Was this a fill-in-the blank interrogation?_ Suddenly I was wary of revealing anything important. The trouble was, I didn't know what would be important to her and how she might use that information. I hedged, "Since last year."

"Last year, since about what time?"

"Eric isn't in any kind of trouble or sick is he?"

"Hmm...no." She answered as if it were not a yes-no kind of question. Then immediately she took control of the questioning again. "When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Northman?"

"I…I don't know."

Her silence made me squirm. "A while ago. Months."

"And you haven't spoken to him since then?"

"No. I'm sorry to have troubled you. I won't take any more of your time."

"Yes, well I'm sorry I can't help you."

"Please just tell him that Sookie is trying to get in touch with him."

"And your contact information?"

"He knows it."

"Yes, I'm sure he does. Very well, then. Anything else I can do for you?'

_I'm sure he does?_

"No. That's all. Thank you." And immediately I hung up.

I sat there, motionless.

The world inside and out was a muffled kind of quiet then. The chatter in my head, the shush of crying babies, the squeak and clack of wheeled motion in the hallway, the unsteady beat of scattered footsteps, the tinned call of hospital codes—all of it—faded far, far away. It was the kind of quiet that comes from a deep snowfall, when even the rumble of an oncoming plow goes unnoticed until it is right upon you.

I had expected Eric to be there.

Though I'd been untethered for months, only then did I feel like I would just float away.

* * *

"_Aw, come on. Don't be like that. Come back." Eric tugged on my arm, trying to pull me back into the playful discussion we were having about New England words and expressions._

"_No, no. If that's the way you feel about it." I feigned annoyance. The silly/lighthearted side of him often hid in the shadows, rarely making a show, and coaxing it out of him made me feel, well… powerful._

"_You have to admit that 'frappe' is a strange word for New England. You say things like 'no suh' and 'pissah' and 'clickah'' and then the word 'frappe' comes out of your mouths. It just doesn't fit."_

"_Oooh. I don't like where this is going! Are you saying we're unsophisticated?" On any other occasion, I might have been insulted. But, hey, I could take a joke, and besides that, he'd tossed me a treat: that impish grin of his. I wanted to kiss it right off his face. Hell, I could devour all of him._

"_Hmm?" I repeated, "Are you saying we're unsophisticated?"_

"_Well…" _

"_And wait a minute! Who are you referring to? Are you talking about me? What about you?" _

"_I wasn't born here, Yankee."_

"_So you're disavowing your New England ties?"_

_He pulled me in closer, tickling at my waist, which is when I knew I had him. I reached down to rest my hands on top of his, pressing them in place._

_His breath hitched. Yep. I had him right where I wanted him._

"_All right," he offered, "I'll give you 'tonic' for 'soda' and 'bubbler' for water fountain if you concede that 'frappe' is out of the Yankee character."_

_To be honest, the word 'frappe' kind of annoyed me too, but for a different reason. At the diner, tourists were always asking for 'milkshakes,' when what they really wanted were 'frappes.' 'Milkshakes' were just milk with flavoring, shaken. 'Frappes' had ice cream too. It was a constant source of confusion._

_Eric's hands had firmly hooked themselves in the small of my waist, right where he liked to feel the flare of my hips. When things got hot and steamy between us, this little nook was where he would hold firm._

"_So, what were you saying?" I prompted him._

"_Hmm," he drew me in even closer by my waist as he leaned his face toward mine. The words he would speak would soon flutter across my cheek. _

"_How about we get naked and then maybe later I'll take you out for a frappe?"_

_

* * *

_

"Sooks! Today is the big day! I'm here to bust you out." Tara came breezing into my hospital room.

Just seeing my friend was enough to trigger the tears that hadn't been shed for the upsetting phone call.

"Oh, no! What's wrong?"

I wasn't ready to tell Tara everything, but as I struggled to find the words to explain myself, suddenly the weight of what I was about to face with E.J. bore down on me. When I'd convinced myself I could do this single parent thing, I had been fully committed to doing it. Maybe I had had unrealistic expectations of myself. But now that I had decided to try to find Eric—and he wasn't there—I was starting to panic. Blasted post-partum hormones probably weren't helping either.

"I don't know if I can handle this." Immediately I started to lose it, skipping over silent tears, right over delicate sobs, and leaping into ugly cry territory.

"Stop!" Tara unleashed a verbal equivalent of a slap in the face. "Hold on, hold on here. I know, I know. I'm supposed to listen and empathize and- yaddah, yaddah, yaddah—whatever else they teach you in those social work classes of yours, but I'm telling you right now, you've gotta take this one step at a time. All we're doing today is leaving the hospital and going home. That's all. And you're not alone. You have friends who want to help. If you let them."

That last pointed dig didn't escape my attention. She handed me a box of tissues and waited for me to clean myself up.

"Also, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but Jason is at your house planning a little welcome home party."

I laughed. "There's a scary thought."

"Okay then. Let's worry about what Jason is cooking up in your kitchen right now. It looked like he had all the ingredients for American chop suey."

I grimaced. "Listen, there is something you could do for me."

"You name it."

I held up a small cardboard box. "Inside this box is the most awesome invention of mankind since the birth of our species."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

"Then don't tell me."

"Here's the catch. The nurses around here dole these things out like they're a commodity. I already have a few extras stashed in my suitcase, but I'd like you to go on a scouting mission next door and see whether the mom who just got discharged left any behind."

"Okay, but only because I love you."

I turned back to the window, calmer now, and looked out across the parking lot toward the adjacent park. Bright light, summer-like in its intensity, was glaring through the still naked trees, casting harsh, jagged shadows on the barren ground.

* * *

"_You're late, aren't you?" Tara had asked me point-blank._

"_What?" I asked, though there was no sense playing stupid with Tara. If anyone knew me, she did._

_We had driven up to the White Mountains, supposedly for a simple overnight girls' get-away camping trip. JB had been planning a poker night and had banned me from the table. Now, seeing Tara's intense look at me, across the fire pit, I wondered whether she had brought me here for this very purpose._

"_You're late, aren't you?"_

"_Yes," I whispered, as though someone might overhear us. "How did you know?"_

"_Sookie, how did I know? How did I know? How could I __**not **__know? You've been passing off some stomach bug excuse for almost a month now. You've barely touched your wine. And you haven't been yourself in forever."_

_I didn't know what to say. There was no escaping Tara._

"_You haven't taken a pregnancy test yet, have you?"_

"_What?"_

"_A pregnancy test."_

"_I…" I couldn't finish my sentence. Couldn't tell her what I was really thinking. I was certain to the core what the results would say, and I was desperately hanging onto every last ounce of summer._

_She rolled her eyes. "You know what they say. 'Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.'" She reached into her duffle bag, pulled out a box, and tossed it over to me._

_The package sailed through the air, its letters "e" and "p" and "t" spinning wildly, circling and rotating in slow motion before landing right in my lap._

"_Good aim." I snickered._

_And with that, the tension broke. Doubled over in laughter, I sputtered, " Da Nile?" and "Hey, Tara, have any LPTs? Any late pregnancy tests?"_

"_Go on! Go on!" she gasped, shooing me with her arms. "You're not getting out of this. I picked this campsite specifically for the location of that bush over there."_

_In the dark, still laughing, I stumbled into the bushes with a flashlight, tore open the package, and opened up the directions. "Three minutes," it said. "Most accurate with morning urine," it said. But that probably only applied to women who just missed a period, when pregnancy hormones were just starting to build. _

_And that only applied to women who didn't already know with every nerve cell that she was pregnant. _

_I pulled off the cap to the test stick and squatted to pee, tucking the flashlight under my chin. By the time I got back to the warm glow of the campfire, a plus sign already had appeared._

"_Well, there you have it," I flashed it briefly at Tara before tossing it into the fire, where it immediately ignited and cast a blue-green flame. I watched morosely for a moment as it started to melt and drip. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I reached out to recapture a meager scrap of humor, anything to take the sting off the moment._

"_So, what else do you have in that bag of yours, Tara? Wanna check my cholesterol? Run a colon cancer screen? Not to put any pressure on you or anything, but some of my other girlfriends treat me to makeover parties. You know- manicures, facials, and things like that."_

_Tara didn't miss a beat. "Here's what I have planned for us tomorrow, Sookie. Let's take a ride over to the Old Man viewing area." She laughed raucously._

"_Hunh?" I seemed to be missing the joke. The Old Man was a granite ledge that jutted out from the side of a mountain that looked like, well, an old man. It was a popular tourist destination._

"_You know…the Old Man."_

_I still wasn't getting it._

_She twirled her arms impatiently at me. "You know, he fell off the side of the mountain."_

"_What? He's gone?"_

"_Yeah. There one day. Gone the next."_

"_No way!"_

"_Way!"_

"_Where'd he go?" _

_We were both laughing now, hysterically, rolling on the ground._

"_Can you imagine the park ranger that day?" _

"_Yeah. Talk about a bad day at work."_

_Tara took a deep, wheezing breath. "People even showed up at the viewing area and put flowers down."_

_I gasped, the wind suddenly knocked out of me._

_And just like that, the mood turned on me, crashed down like a cracked granite ledge that had clung to the side of a cliff for only so long before giving way. I shook with great big gulping sobs that thundered and rumbled in my chest. Tara had the presence to sit quietly, rubbing my back until we both fell asleep._

_We slept late the next morning, shielded from the sunrise by the shadows cast by the towering mountains around us. All the while, the sun rose high in the sky, gaining strength, before finally erupting over the mountain peaks at full force. I longed for the slow, gentle warm-up of a sunrise over the ocean. But even I knew that at home, the sun was already at high noon. _

_

* * *

_"Score!" Tara called from the doorway.

Looking up, I noticed she was juggling an armful of boxes.

"Tara, I love you. You're the best."

"You know I'll do anything for you, but don't ever again ask me to steal…" she paused to read the printing, "...per-i-ne-al cool pads."

"Deal. I owe you."

I leaned over to hug her, and as soon as I felt her warm embrace, I knew I owed her for much more. I'd neglected our friendship over the past nine months, even longer including the time I'd been wrapped up in a summer fling with Eric. The whole time she'd been there for me, mostly on the sidelines, waiting to help whenever I'd accept it. I couldn't assume that she'd be there forever.

"Tara, I owe you an apology."

She rolled her eyes, a habit that had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion. "Sookie, I already told you I forgive you for that time you dragged me from one end of the Freedom Trail to the other."

"I mean it. I know I've been secretive about a lot of things lately, but it hasn't been because I don't trust you or because I don't think you could help, or anything having to do with you." That last part was a bit of a lie. Tara's help often was not doled out in small quantities or subtle ways. The image of her using a sledge hammer to install a picture hook came to mind.

"Go on. Go on and play the pregnancy card."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Tara, listen to me. I'm being serious. Yes, this pregnancy has taken over all of my attention. I _have_ been spending a lot of time trying to figure out how to handle all of this. It's something only I can do. But I'm still sorry I haven't been around much. I miss you."

"You don't have to do it alone."

I winced. I knew her feelings had been hurt. She had wanted to help all along, and frankly the biggest testament to our friendship had been that she'd been able to hold back.

"And I'm just figuring that out now. I mean, thank you."

At that moment, a nurse popped her head in the doorway to remind me to feed E.J.. I'd needed to feed him every two hours because he'd become jaundiced. Tara got up to wheel his bassinette closer. I contemplated whether to stay put or move back to the bed, but just the thought of getting up quickly convinced me.

"Would you mind handing him to me?"

Tara's eyes opened wide as she squealed, "You mean I can hold him?"

I startled. "You haven't had a chance yet?" I realized, once again, how much I had been withholding from her.

Tara was already scooping up E.J.. Swaddled in his blanket, he fit in her arms like a little baby burrito. I watched as her face and shoulders relaxed and she started gently swaying.

"You're a natural," I teased.

"He's so sweet. Look at his pouty little mouth."

"Pull his cap off," I urged, feeling like a boastful mother.

Tara gasped as his spiky hair sprang to life.

Loosened up by all of the warm, fuzzy feelings E.J. had brought out, I blurted, "His real name is Eric Jason. That's what E.J. stands for. But you're the only one who knows."

"Eric? Is he the father?"

I nodded.

"How did you meet him?"

"He's an architect who came looking for me to see my house."

"Wait a minute…is he the guy whose crotch you grabbed last April Fools' Day?"

My heart was thundering now, as more parts of the story I had worked hard to keep contained were loosening, leaving my control. Tara not only knew his name, but something else about his identity. "Yes. But again, you're the only one who knows."

"And you had a thing with him?"

"It was a little more than a thing. We saw each other all last summer."

Tara's eyebrows raised. She'd held herself at bay for a long time, and now given the opportunity, she could barely control her curiosity. "I _knew_ you were up to something."

"Guilty as charged."

"Why'd you keep it a secret?" Her questions, I knew, would get only blunter.

I sighed. "I'm not sure exactly, to be honest with you. I had my reasons at the time. I was still recovering from L.L. and Quinn. I didn't want another big public humiliation. An illicit summer fling with a hot guy sounded like fun. No strings attached."

"Hmmph," she chuckled.

"Yeah. Right." I added glumly.

"So now what?"

"I just tried calling his father today. He wasn't there."

"He doesn't know yet?"

I shook my head. Tara whistled softly.

"The problem is I don't know how to reach him," I heard my voice waver, trailing off. How the very largeness of Eric had managed to blink out remained unfathomable to me.

E.J. was starting to stir in Tara's arms. She passed him down to me, watching as I got him settled in place.

"We'll figure it out." She backed off, giving what had been revealed between us time to settle. And I felt bolstered, knowing I didn't have to do this alone.

* * *

**A/N Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer:** _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris, and I am not receiving any monetary compensation through their use. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._


	5. Fun and Games

**Recap of previous chapter:** Sookie discovers that Eric has left his architecture firm. Andre and Sophie-Anne refuse to provide her with any information about Eric and seem to be suspicious of her. Still in the hospital with E.J., Sookie re-connects with Tara, disclosing details about Eric.

**Thanks, makesmyheadspin!**

**

* * *

**Chapter 5: **Fun and Games**

"Moms, over the next few days, your breasts are going to become engorged as milk production begins."

The nurse speaking to the small group of us being discharged from the hospital that day stood in front of a huge cartoon poster of a monster-like breast looming over the face of an infant, his face scrunched in exaggerated frustration.

"I'm going to give you some tips on how to get through this phase." She lectured in a stiff, well-rehearsed tone of voice, one that spoke of the female body turned into a daily grind, mere anatomical parts, mundane.

I leaned sharply to one side of my tortuously hard chair, cursing the fact that I had forgotten my donut. All of the other moms and dads seemed to be listening with rapt attention, even taking notes. The room was stifling hot. Either that or I was having a post-partum hot flash. I could feel myself starting to sweat.

Focusing back on the nurse, I watched her pick up a beat-up bag of frozen peas and apply it to a model breast on the table beside her. Next to me, Tara barely stifled a snicker. "Thank God she demonstrated that business, or I wouldn't have known where to put the peas."

Nurse pursed her Pepto-Bismol pink lips in our direction. Gran had tried out a shade like that a few times. I pictured the small white sample tube from Avon that had floated around her makeup drawer for a few years.

Squirming in my seat, I wondered why no one else seemed to be having the same problems. Did I really belong here?

* * *

"_I could stay out here all day. Why can't summer last all year?"_

_Eric and I lay on our stomachs, face-to-face on long rafts linked together, floating and bobbing in the bay. I wanted to fold this kind of day inward, origami-like, tucked into the nooks and crannies of me. It was the kind of day when the intense heat from the sun dried the salt to my skin, pricking it with every movement in a way that reminded me that I was not just going through the motions, not just getting by, but really feeling the zap and zing of every living moment. Because that's not what happens in winter, when whole smudges of days pass unnoticed- from sunrise to sunset- behind dense banks of clouds._

_The gentle waves had had a lulling, hypnotizing effect on Eric. He was awake, his eyes open, but not really looking at anything in particular, just gazing. Studying his face, I noticed that this placid, peaceful expression looked different, maybe more relaxed, from the composed quiet look I often saw. Flecks of sand clung to his still damp hair. I imagined my own fingers laced through the wet strands, pushing them back off his face. He'd given me his elastic tie to pull back my hair._

_Bracing up on my elbows, I folded my arms in front of me, where I propped my chin. He did the same, his broad shoulders rippling as he moved in tandem with me. _

_Hunh. That was interesting. I mean, yeah, those shoulders of his had gotten my attention on more than one occasion, but that's not what I was noticing now. _

_Was he aware of it? Aware that he was shadowing my movements? _

_I laughed to myself. Who was I kidding? I doubted Eric had ever taken orders from anyone. But here, in this relaxed state, without even realizing it, he had synched up with me._

_I wondered how far I could push it._

_I cocked my head ever-so-slightly to one side._

_So did he._

_Hmm. Would he go back the other way? I leaned ever-so-slightly to the other side._

_So did he. Heh-heh._

_I scratched my nose._

_Ditto._

_I giggled. It was almost too good to be true._

"_Hmm? What's so funny?" _

_I couldn't help but to reach over and brush his cheek then. He'd become more alert, and when I leaned forward, seeking the press of his lips, he was suddenly gone, slipped into the water. Surfacing near my side of the raft, he shook great droplets of cold saltwater all over me. _

_Alive and awake and face up to the sun, I would feel his every touch._

_

* * *

_

My head suddenly dropped forward, jolting me awake, as Nurse Pepto was spouting off, "Nine."

_Sweet Jesus, was there no end in sight? _

"If your nipple and areola are swollen, try softening them up before you nurse by expressing some milk." As she said the word "softening," she made a stiff little "wipe on" kind of motion, like the Karate Kid.

I had had enough. "Does she have a black belt in lactation consultation?" I whispered to Tara, who got my joke immediately.

She quipped back, "Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth."

I shook with a held back laugh, my eyes starting to tear up. Nurse Pepto, meanwhile, had reached over to grasp the breast to demonstrate, which had the effect of sobering up Tara right quick.

"You may also want to become comfortable using an electric pump."

From underneath the table, she wheeled out a heavy-duty, hospital grade breast pump, as though she had been saving it for the highlight of her demonstration. And that was when I decided I just couldn't take any more. I hauled myself up to a standing position and tugged on Tara.

Together, the two of us spilled out into the hall, our stifled giggles exploding into full-blown snorts and guffaws before the door even closed fully behind us. Tara was doing Karate Kid kinds of moves. After another moment of tension-relieving silliness, we composed ourselves enough to pass by the lecture window on our way back to my hospital room. Pepto was in the middle of another demonstration.

"Are those cabbage leaves?" Tara gasped.

"Come on," I urged. "I've already pushed the bounds of our friendship enough today."

Back in the room, I endured a mess of discharge paperwork, yet another exam, and more post-partum care instructions. And then, after all of the rigmarole, E.J. and I were set free, wheeled down to the front door, and unceremoniously deposited on the sidewalk where, I considered soberly, the wide world was unleashed on us.

"Just think about this, Tara. It's his first time outside. Ever."

JB had been kind enough to take my car to the police station to have E.J.'s car seat base installed properly. Tara lifted the carrier into the back seat and snapped it in place before pushing the handle down.

"And this is his first car ride. Ever." I could feel myself starting to tear up. Damn hormones.

Tara looked over at me, appraising my status. She pulled down the visor.

"Can you grab me some sunglasses?" she asked, pointing toward her purse.

* * *

_Squinting in my direction, Tara looked me over. "I think the eyes are a little uneven." _

_I was holding an orange shirt up to me with a black felt face pinned in place. Crescent-shaped eyes, triangular nose, and a gaping toothy grin. After adjusting the eyes, I held it up again._

"_Looks good. I mean…it's even now."_

"_Your enthusiasm is overwhelming me, Tara."_

"_I'm sorry. I just don't know that it's the right idea. Are __**you**__ sure? 'Cuz not everyone has the same sense of humor you do."_

"_I've already made up my mind."_

"_Right. And I know there's no changing your mind once it's made up."_

"_Call it commitment."_

"_Stubbornness."_

"_Perseverance," I corrected._

"_But why take more heat than you have to? Why stir the pot? Not to make anything more out of this than it already is, but let's face it. You're pretty well-known around here—you're the granddaughter of St. Adele—and your pregnancy is going to be…news. You know how nasty people can be." _

_I had meant it when I said I had already made up my mind. Halloween, complete with tricks and treats, costumes, and dark creatures of the night, would serve as my coming out party. I had already started to pop, my bump rising just over my belly button now. In not long, it would be impossible to hide it with baggy sweaters, baby-doll shirts, and a work apron stuffed with my Big Book of Everything. If I didn't take charge, people would start speculating. _

_So today, during my afternoon and evening shifts at Merlotte's , I would dress as a jack-o'-lantern and stake a claim on my own…condition. __**I**__ would own it—not anyone else._

"_Maxine Fortenberry is going to have a field day with this."_

"_Of course she is. I wouldn't expect any less from her. But she'll have a field day no matter how I make the announcement. This way, I get to have the first laugh."_

"_Whatever."_

"_All I have to do, really, is tell Arlene, and then my work is done."_

"_What about Sam?"_

_I paused. "I'll have to talk to Sam in private, first thing." Truth was, Sam was the only person I was truly nervous about telling tonight. And maybe Lafayette. I had already told Jason. _

_Jay had broken out in a huge grin, congratulating me briefly before sighing in relief that he wasn't the one in trouble for once._

"_All right, well I don't think I can say anything else. Don't know why I even tried. JB and I will stop by, but if you need me, call me."_

_I sat down to sew my shirt. Tara, on the sofa next to me, was leafing through the latest issue of Glamoured._

"_Listen to this. It's a Halloween survey. 'How to Pick Your Beast Mate.'"_

"_Read me the questions." I was whip stitching around the eyes._

"_Okay. Question 1. After a round of sex, I like my lover to (A) Spoon me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear."_

"_What are sweet nothings?"_

"_You know…tender words of endearment."_

"_I know, but why do they call them sweet nothings?"_

"_Well, they're sweet…"  
_

"_Right, but I hope they don't mean 'nothing.' That doesn't sound very romantic, does it? If some guy is whispering romantic words in my ear, he better mean it and not be saying it just to get in my pants."_

"_Do you want me to keep reading?"_

"_Go ahead."_

"_Okay. First question still. After a round of sex, I like my lover to…Option A is spoon/sweet nothing, etc., (B) is 'Say goodnight and leave' and (C) is 'Go for Round 2.'"_

_Tara looked at me. "Your answer?"_

"_I love romance, but I'm stuck on that 'sweet nothings' expression. Who wouldn't want a second round? I'd like a little romance and then round 2."_

"_Your answer?"_

"_All right, all right. If I have to pick just one, I guess I pick C—Go for Round 2."_

"_Okay. Second question."_

"_Wait a minute! What do you pick?"_

"_I'll take the spooning-sweet nothing business. Can I go on now?"_

_I nodded._

"_Second question. My favorite ice cream is…"_

"_Ice cream?"_

"_That's what it says."_

"_What's that have to do with anything?"_

"_Wait a minute! There's a footnote down at the bottom saying that under no circumstances should this survey be given to a social work student."_

"_Ouch!" I had pricked myself with the needle._

"_Should I go on? Can you behave yourself?"_

"_Go ahead."_

"_Okay. Ice cream options are (A) Rocky Road, (B) Plain vanilla or (C) Gel…gel-ay-to."_

"_Gel-ahh-to," I corrected._

"_What's that?"_

"_Don't you remember we had gelato that time we spent the day in the North End?" The North End was Boston's Italian district, full of restaurants and markets, not to mention the Old North Church, where the famous lanterns had been hung on Paul Revere's ride._

"_I remember the cannolis," Tara groaned._

"_Yeah, but after we stuffed ourselves full of cannolis, we made a little extra room for gelato."_

"_Ugh," Tara groaned again, nodding. "All right. I pick plain vanilla. How about you?"_

"_Rocky Road._

_The survey continued with eight more questions, over which Tara and I continued to bicker._

"_Finally!" she huffed, adding up the point tallies. "Okay. Here's what it says. You ready to listen?"_

"_My mouth is closed."_

"_Okay. You are definitely a fan of the fang. Your natural tendency to not trust your partner will keep you on your toes with this twisty creature of the night. He's met his match! You like a good challenge! You enjoy his stealthy, mysterious ways. Though sometimes you complain of his cocky arrogance, in secret, deep inside, his confidence in his own powers is a turn on for you. You are no wimp, able to stand up to him when his possessiveness and high-handedness flare up from time to time. Ease any tensions by keeping you and your vamp satisfied in bed with regular sex, and he'll drop that pesky subject of bonding. You are a free woman, after all, enjoying your independence." _

"_That's just crazy. What about you?"_

"_According to this, I should love a mummy."_

_

* * *

_

"Tara, do you really think I'm a vamp lover?"

"What?"

"You know…that stupid Halloween survey. It said I have a hard time trusting people and getting close to them."

"Is that what it said?"

"Something like that."

"Do you really want to do this now?"

"Yeah." We were on our way home from the hospital. E.J., asleep in his infant carrier in the back, was dead to the world, missing his first experience of life outside the hospital.

Tara pulled the car off to the side of the road, put it in park, and turned sideways in her seat to face me.

"Why now? You have a lot on your plate today."

"I think last summer Eric was trying to get closer to me, but I didn't notice. I had my mind on...other things."

After a pause, she prompted, "Okay."

"So do you think I'm a vamp lover?"

"You're wondering whether you might have missed something with him because you have a hard time trusting men?"

I nodded, feeling the tears starting to well yet again. This was getting to be a really unpleasant habit. Tara reached into her purse to pull out a travel pack of tissues.

"All right, look. I'm not going to lay a bunch of bad relationship advice on you from one of those women's magazines. But here's what you've told me. _People do the best they can at the time._"

"I said that?"

Tara nodded. "On more than one occasion."

I smiled weakly.

"Done beating yourself up?"

"I guess."

Tara pulled back out onto the road.

"So is JB your mummy?"

In about ten minutes, we were pulling up next to my home…I mean, _our_ home. E.J.'s and mine. Cripes. The tears started again. Balloons, streamers, and a big "Congratulations" banner decorated the front of the house. No sooner had Tara put the car in park than Sam, Lafayette, JB, and Jason were streaming outside to welcome us. Opening my door, Sam held his arm out to help me up out of the car while JB grabbed E.J..

Heading inside, I was hit with the nauseating smell of Jay's cooking.

* * *

"_How about some American chop suey, Sookie?" _

_Sam didn't usually serve it, but he always put it on the special list on Halloween because it was popular with kids and families. I had, as planned, gone ahead with my outing, dressing as a jack-o'-lantern. As predicted, I had barely removed my coat in the break room when Arlene assaulted me. _

"_Oh, my god, Sookie! You're pregnant!"_

_I held my arms out, as if to display the evidence on hand. _

_Arlene, an experienced mother (not to mention a first-hand expert of unplanned pregnancies) reached toward me- my first encounter with hands breeching my personal space- and gushed, "You're about four months now, aren't you? Oh…that means your due date is sometime in March. Lucky you! During my first pregnancy, I spent the last trimester suffering in the summer heat. Ankles swelled up like balloons."_

_Arlene seemed to be hitting a bunch of firsts. This would be my first experience with another mother marching out her pregnancy and birth story._

"_Well, just look at you! I didn't notice it until now, but girl, you've definitely popped. No hiding it now, is there?" _

_I suspected that Arlene took secret glee in not being the only one having gotten knocked up. _

"_You are going to cause a stir tonight."_

_Arlene's eyes had narrowed, taking on a jealous gleam. Dressed in her tarted-up French maid's costume (how cliché), she was just realizing that she might be outshone by a foolishly grinning jack-o'-lantern. "Well, I'll be happy to run interference for you. I know how people around here can be. But oh my goodness, they are going to be surprised it's you."_

"_Thanks, Arlene. By the way, where's Sam? I want to be the one to tell him."_

"_Sam had to run out and pick up some last minute supplies. We must have missed a delivery this week."_

"_If you see him, send him my way."_

_Composing myself, I headed straight for the kitchen. Lafayette glanced up at me, said a casual hello, turned back toward the steak bomb he was frying on the griddle, and then did a double take._

"_Is that all you?" he said, pointing at my midsection with his spatula. I had a mental image of his poking at me, testing to see whether I was hiding any padding._

"_This is me," I said. "And another little person in the works." I watched his face, studying it for a reaction, but it remained smooth. _

"_Come here." He opened his arms wide for a hug. "Please tell me it's not Quinn's."_

"_Not Quinn's."_

"_All right, then." He turned back to his steak bomb. "But you look ridiculous."_

_And then I waded out into the diner. The early dinner crowd was just starting to trickle in. It was the first time I'd noticed so many children and families. They'd come for an early meal, presumably to eat something healthy before loading up on sugar. It seemed that everywhere I looked was a squirming mass of princesses, Power Rangers, and Jedi knights._

_Selah and L.L. had arrived for an early dinner too. Selah was wearing a long dark wig, jeans, and a flannel shirt. L.L.'s hair looked like it had been electrocuted and then gelled in place. Sparkly shit covered his skin._

"_L.L. have you been to a transvestite convention? Go back there and have Lafayette help you out with that."_

_L.L. smiled, revealing plastic vampire teeth. "Thookie!" he lisped, even drooling a little down the corner of his mouth._

"_Oh, I get it! You're Edward!" And looking at Selah, I added, "And you're Bella! Now I see the bite marks!" Selah had two red dots on her neck._

_L.L. popped out his teeth. "Where's your costume? Don't you usually dress up? Last year weren't you…"_

_I dropped my tray to my side, fully revealing the grinning jack-o'-lantern._

"_A p-pumpkin?" L.L. stammered. He was looking at me with a confused, panicked look on his face. He actually already had found out about my pregnancy, second only to Tara, but had been sworn to secrecy. I suspected that his discomfort was his uncertainty about whether it was time to spill the beans. Also, I'm sure he would not want Selah knowing that he was privy to a very personal part of my life._

_I let him squirm a little longer. "Well, actually, no, it's a jack-o'-lantern." And then I grasped my hands around my belly._

_Selah gasped. "You're pregnant?" She looked hesitantly at L.L.. I knew they'd be having a little conversation as soon as I walked away.  
_

"_Yep. It's true! About four months now. I should be due towards the end of March. Just starting to show now, so I guessed it was time to let everyone in on my good news. Now, what can I get you to drink?"_

_After taking their order, I headed to the kitchen. Sam came back, hauling bags and boxes from the local restaurant supply warehouse. I heard him cursing as he struggled to manage the back door, so I checked to see if I could help. He barely glanced up as he pulled in a heavy box, "Sookie, could you go back to the truck and grab some of those bags of paper towels?"_

"_Sure, Sam." It didn't seem like the right moment to have a discussion with him, but pretty soon he'd be noticing my costume. I didn't know when to interrupt him. He definitely had a harried look on his face. I knew he'd be worried about getting back into the kitchen to help Lafayette keep up with the dinner crowd. It would be a busy night, starting now until well into the night. I pulled out a few bags and hauled them up the steps, passing him along the way._

"_Sam…"_

"_I'm going to need to get a new supplier. I know I put that order in last week. I can't waste all of my time chasing down my supplies."_

"_Sam…"_

"_Thanks for filling in for Amelia tonight."_

"_No problem." _

"_Where did she say she was going? Salem?"_

"_Yeah. I guess she and Tray got invited to a witch hunt re-enactment." _

"_That town is going to be crawling with crazies tonight." He grunted as he lifted another heavy box. "Could you grab that last bag?"_

_I crawled all the way into the back of the truck, pulling the last bag across the bed, and started to scoot back down on my backside._

"_Thanks. I'm gonna run and check on Lafayette."_

"_Sam…"_

"_Jesus, Sookie!"_

_I froze, my feet dangling down from the dropped tailgate with my arms leaning back behind me. Sam, standing at the top of the steps by the door, was looking down toward me clambering out of the truck. My belly protruded out noticeably, perched as I was on the edge of the bed. He had a look of horror on his face._

"_Sam…I…" My body tensed._

"_Are those tri-fold paper towels?"_

"_Yeah." He'd gotten the wrong kind for the bathrooms._

"_Dammit, it's too late to do anything about it now. How did I do that? We'll be stuck with tri-fold paper towels for the next 18 years."_

"_Sam, I'm pregnant!" I blurted out._

_My words had the effect of slamming everything to a complete halt, giving us both whiplash. _

"_Pregnant?" he questioned, the words still sinking in. Then, noticing my grinning jack-o'-lantern, his face settled into recognition. Was that a flash of anger? And then concern as he realized I was still perched on the edge, hauling out a package of paper towels._

"_Oh! Let me help you with that! You probably shouldn't be lifting anything heavy, right?" He'd turned all business-like. "I guess we'll have to figure out how to re-arrange some of your duties and responsibilities. Maybe you and the other servers can come up with a plan so that…" he prattled on, rambling about heavy lifting and getting me off my feet, especially in the last trimester._

"_Sam, it's okay. I'm pregnant, not sick."_

"_Oh. Right." Still, he helped me down from the truck, barely glancing at me, and pulling out the towels himself. "Well, I better go help Lafayette." He escorted me inside, closing the door behind us before darting away. I barely saw him the rest of the night__._

_

* * *

_**A/N Who knew the cooling perineal pads from last chapter would be so popular? (And to think they almost met the chopping block). LOL…It's always interesting to me to hear what resonates with others—or doesn't, for that matter—so thanks for sharing your comments. **

**Special thanks to peppermintyrose for her extra comments, and to my DH, who took the day off for my b-day so I could have some extra time to do what he calls my "zoney thing." xoxo**

** Up next: Eric's first visit to Sookie's house last summer. ;)**

**Disclaimer: **_All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._**  
**


	6. An Invitation Rescinded, Another Offered

**Recap of Previous Chapter: ** Sookie and Tara finally escape the hospital. On the ride home, Sookie recalls Halloween, the night she announced her pregnancy at the diner, and ends up having a love life chat with Tara.

**

* * *

**Chapter 6: **An Invitation Rescinded, Another Offered**

"It's like a freaking puzzle." Jason threw up his arms in exasperation.

"Lafayette, it's twisted," Sam pointed out.

"No it's not! Look at the picture. This piece should be facing out."

"Yeah, but look at the pouch down here. It's twisted, I'm telling you."

"Here, you do it, then." Lafayette pulled the baby sling off his shoulder and threw it at Sam.

From my perch on my green recliner, nicknamed the Green Monster, I was witnessing four grown adults being defeated by a piece of fabric with a buckle. We'd already watched an instructional video (yes, a video) which made it look really easy to use in a variety of positions. It wasn't.

Sam fooled with the fabric for a bit before slinging it over one shoulder. I rested my head, even started to doze off, when suddenly I heard Sam shout, ""I got it! Quick, Sookie. Get the baby!"

"Hold on. Hold on. He's not going anywhere. And were you planning on feeding him?"

I had eased myself out of the chair and was stooping low pick up E.J. out of his carrier. My head suddenly swimming, I grabbed at the handle for a bit of support.

"Whoa, there!" Sam reached for me while Tara swooped down to pull out E.J..

"Have a seat. We can do this later."

"I got it. Let's figure it out so I can have a set of free hands when I'm alone."

Sam was on a roll. "Okay, so the trick is to always keep the buckle right here where you'd pin a corsage. And pull this little padded flap up against your stomach. Once you get E.J. in the pocket, you pull on the tail, but make sure you keep the buckle in place."

He draped the sling across my shoulder as Tara tucked E.J. into the pocket. Tugging on the belt, E.J. pulled up snug and secure to just the right height.

"It's discreet, right? You can't even tell the dairy bar's open for business."

Drawing strongly, E.J. let out a noisy snort and grunt.

"Aw, that ain't right," Jay complained, walking away from me as someone knocked on the front door.

Opening it, I found L.L. standing just below the front step on my walkway, holding a small present and a bouquet of pink double tulips from his gardens. The big grin on his face, flashing like a neon sign, told me he hadn't taken our "heart-to-heart" conversation to heart. My own heart sank. I liked L.L.—loved him even—but I needed to make a break from him in order to move on.

"Hey, L.L."

"I noticed you're home." He started up the step casually, not even noticing the way I lingered in the doorway, blocking his path, until he'd nearly bumped into E.J. and me. I remained firmly planted, wanting him to at least begin to understand just how our boundaries would be re-established, that he could no longer walk into my house without an invitation.

He took another step closer, confusion and uncertainty registering on his face as I held still for just that fraction of a second longer. E.J., meanwhile, had gotten a groove on, practically snarling into my breast. Within an arm's length of me, L.L. looked down, noticing him for the first time.

It was a needed icebreaker, perfect in its timing, now that I had stopped L.L. at the front door. "This sling is great, but you should have seen how many adults it took to figure it out."

L.L.'s expression turned sour—macaroni salad sour. "I put the video right by your VCR when we were setting up all your gear."

_Crap_. _This would be harder than I had expected. _

Finally stepping aside I offered, "We're a little busy right now, but it's no problem if you'd like to go back to the guest room and get your belongings."

"I brought you these." He thrust the tulips and present in my direction before stepping into the house to face my guests, silent in their reception. L.L. tended to do that—to make a crowd quiet and tense. Maybe it was his formal mannerisms, stiff and awkward, though with this crowd, their knowledge of our history was enough to give him a frosty greeting.

Finally it was Jason, blissfully oblivious to the social cues, who offered a friendly, "Hey, Bill." The rest followed suit with an uncoordinated chorus of head nods and "Williams."

"I noticed the balloons and banners and saw the cars, so I figured you'd come home."

"Yep. Just about half an hour ago. If you don't mind, I'm going to have a seat here. But feel free to go on back and get your things."

I settled back into the Green Monster while the others wandered around aimlessly, giving each other knowing looks. Fed up with them, I asked Jay to help get them something to eat.

L.L. came back a few minutes later with his suitcase, saying he'd put his linens in the washer. He hovered near my chair before abruptly stooping in front of me with his present. Untying the bow and opening the lid, he pulled out a pretty, delicately-beaded, stretchy bracelet that he slipped over my wrist. "I heard one of the nurses in the hospital suggesting this to another patient. It's to help you remember which side to breastfeed on."

His timing couldn't have been any worse. What might have been a sweet, kind gesture between the two of us was awkward and embarrassing in the presence of an audience. I knew what he was doing—trying to keep himself connected to me, trying to make me accept him in front of others, verifying his importance in my life. But I was pissed he was putting this kind of pressure on me at this moment.

The problem was he really had been—and would always be—important to my life. He'd been an intimate part of too many major personal life events to easily and casually relegate him to the sidelines. Mourning Gran's death. My first major relationship. Losing my virginity. Pregnancy. Giving birth. He could not just be plucked out.

Jay blundered on. "How is she supposed to remember whether that's the side she needs to feed on or whether that's the side she just fed on?"

It was an innocent enough question, and one that frankly I had wondered too, given how tired I was. But L.L. snapped back defensively, "I'm sure Sookie will be smart enough to figure that out."

Though I had been prepared to handle L.L. with kind firmness, his insult to Jay's intelligence pushed me over the edge. "L.L. just hang your key on the hook by the front door."

He lost his cool, his face transforming beyond the macaroni salad look to something hard and mean and steely as he worked to unwind the key from its ring. It jangled in his hands as the rest of us looked on silently. Finally, after minutes of wrestling with it, he shot me a pointed look as he deliberately placed the key on its hook. Without saying goodbye, he left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the rest began talking at once. "Did you see his face? Nice job, Sookie. What a jerk…"

I wasn't interested in hearing everyone dissect L.L., insulting me and my judgment at the same time. In fact, I'd reached my limit for the day. I handed E.J. to Tara. "Wake me up in two hours if he doesn't wake up first, please."

And then I excused myself, made a trip to the bathroom, took a painkiller, and promptly crashed in bed.

* * *

"_Hey, there," he said simply, startling me from my position on my belly in the sand. I saw his boots first._

"_Oh!" I glanced up to find Eric looking down at me in amusement. "You scared me!"_

_I was trapped, really. It was a good thing that I hadn't jumped up quickly. Not expecting to have any visitors, I'd untied the strings to my bikini. Fumbling, I reached behind myself to get everything secure once again. _

_He squatted down next to me. "You said Tuesday was your day off and I could drop by anytime, right?"_

"_Sure." Once again, though, here I was, thrown off kilter in front of him. Still flustered, my fingers weren't working right as I struggled with the strings. I felt like a flipped beetle, legs up in the sand._

"_I'd help you out there, but I wouldn't want to seem too forward. You know?"_

_I stopped. With that smirk on his face, he was definitely goading me, reminding me of our first encounter. _

"_Go ahead," I dared him. (Go ahead, I dared myself.)_

_His fingers nimbly pulled at the strings. "How's that?"_

"_Good, thanks." I decided to just forge ahead with him. "I wasn't expecting you so early in the season. Isn't it still chilly in the shacks?" I knew they weren't heated or well-insulated._

"_Not any chillier than it is here in a bikini." I stopped again. He wasn't letting any forging ahead happen. But that was okay. I could play his game too._

_Casually, but purposefully, I reached down to adjust myself and make sure everything was tucked into place. And then I pushed myself up out of the sand, standing in full glory in front of him, well aware of the way that the brisk breeze was bringing my girls to life._

_There was no doubt I caught him by surprise, that his eyes smoldered for the briefest of moments before being snuffed out. In that flicker of transformation, my own boldness turned on me, scuttling away and leaving me feeling laid bare and buck naked. I scrambled for my towel, cursing myself for the way I was practically throwing myself at him, and wrapped it snugly around me. _

_But I wasn't ready to fold just yet, not by far. I shook myself and tried to turn the conversation once again to more casual chit-chat. "Come on up. I'll show you around." I motioned toward the path up to the house. Barefoot, I led him through bits of broken shells, through the bank of beach roses, and up onto the lawn._

"_Did you have any trouble finding the house? I know it's kind of hidden."_

"_Had gave me good directions and also warned me about your driveway."_

_I looked toward my driveway, and saw, not his red Corvette, but a beat-up junker of a Jeep._

"_No Corvette?"_

"_It's in the shop getting repaired from being hit out in front of Merlotte's" He paused for emphasis. "Someone named Larry." _

_He was obviously toying with me again. But remembering the way that his cocky assuredness had broken that day, revealing a hint of vulnerability, I felt the thrill all over again. What was he up to now? Goading me into another chase? Laying himself open to me? Which one was he: badass womanizer or charming boy next door?_

_Eric had stopped on the lawn, his hands in his back pockets, looking from the house out onto the bay, appreciating the view. So was I—appreciating the view, that is. He was wearing that belt again._

_Abruptly, he looked back at me. Embarrassed at having been caught looking at him, I babbled. "So this home hasn't been in my family for too long. My gran inherited it nearly 20__ years ago from a dear friend, and then when she died,__ she left it to me. So I have no idea how old it is. Most of the repair work completed in more recent years was done by the previous owner, who was a bit of an eccentric. You'll see where he did his own handiwork and used whatever reclaimed materials he could scrounge up. A lot of the work is mismatched." _

_I started walking toward the house, but he remained firm, pointing. "This style of house, the saltbox, got its name from the way salt boxes used to be shaped. It's a style that evolved over time. Originally, there was the simple rectangular shape, like this portion of your house, here." He pointed to the main section with my front door. "Then, as people prospered and wanted to add more space, they added this back part." He pointed toward my kitchen area. "It is thought that the addition was built to only one story in order to save on taxes. But eventually this look developed into a style of its own."_

_Again, I started to walk toward the house, but he didn't budge yet._

"_Sometimes you can tell whether a house was built in separate pieces by looking at the roof line. A smooth, unbroken roof line can indicate that the back portion was built at the same time as the front part. But that's not always the case. Sometimes as repairs were made to the original house, an entirely new roof was added over the main house and the addition, creating a smooth roof line."_

"_You love your work," I blurted out._

_He turned a stone face to me. "I'm boring you."_

"_No! I love it!" _

_He smiled back. "Good."_

_There it was again—the way he first drew me in, then knocked me off kilter, followed by something that tamed my inner turmoil. I couldn't decide if it was exciting or exhausting. _

"_Come on in," I urged. "I don't normally invite strange men into my house, but since Had sent you to me, I'm sure you're safe enough."_

"_Maybe I should be worried about __**you.**__" _

_I was just about to snap back at him when his hand reached out for me, brushing against my arm as we stood on the threshold. "Sookie, it's a beautiful home." _

_I didn't know it at the time, but later I would look back on this exchange as the moment when my house shifted and heaved, opened wide without cracking apart. Swallowed us whole._

_Stepping inside, I noticed him taking a deep breath. _

_I didn't need to breathe to know the smell. "It never gets old."_

_His eyes flickered to mine, startled._

"_I mean, of course it's an old house, but that smell, even though it's centuries old—it never grows old. You know what I mean? It's not one of those smells that fades into the background. It's always here. I always notice it. It pokes at me." _

_He nodded. "Old wood. It's all around us. Some people called it musty." _

_I could tell he didn't agree. "I know! Can you imagine? Even my gran tried to cover it up with dishes of potpourri and Yankee candles. But I wanted none of that stuff. Smells are powerful reminders of feelings. I want to remember. And the smell of this house, it goes straight to my heart._

"_Some people like the smell of new wood. Of a fresh start."_

"_I guess that's fine for some. To each, his own, right? But I like thinking about what's been. All of it. Everything. Good things, bad things. The whole shebang."_

"_A lot of things must have happened in this house over the years." His arms opened wide._

"_Right! I like to imagine. Like this little dent in this molding here. Maybe Gran banged into it one day while she was vacuuming. Or maybe my brother Jason hit it with one of his toys. Or maybe Fintan—that's the man who owned this house before Gran—accidentally gouged it with a tool. I'll never know. But I like it right there. Just where it is. I wouldn't dream of fixing it." _

_I paused, suddenly aware of how much I had spilled. When I glanced up, I noticed he was looking at me, and when our eyes met, he immediately shifted, scanning across door frames, moldings, floor boards, nails, window panes, and light switches. I wanted him to see it all. I was proud of my house. Though I hadn't been born here, and though it hadn't been in the family for long, relative to its entire history, this house was where I had done most of my growing up, where I'd been loved. I'd happily show off every quirky corner to him._

_Glancing at me first for permission, he pulled open a crawl space door._

"_Look at this." He pointed out what he called a mortise and tenon joint, explaining that this kind of workmanship was standard back in the 1600s, when nails were actually more expensive to use._

"_Do you really think this house is that old?"_

"_Are you kidding me? This house might have been one of the original houses in North Dormer." _

_He'd hoisted himself out of the crawlspace and was unscrewing a light switch to reveal a portion of loose plaster. Pulling a knife out of his front pocket, he gently scraped away a small piece. "Here. Do you see this?" Fine hair-like pieces stuck out of the plaster._

"_What's that?"_

"_Animal hair."_

"_Real animal hair?"_

"_Yeah, like from cattle or hogs. It was mixed with lime—probably from oyster shells around here—water, and sand to make a plaster that's applied over sections of wood strips called lath." He looked up, his forehead wrinkling as he glanced from one end of the ceiling to the other. "It's hard to say, but I think this wall was originally a few feet that way." He pointed. "It's not necessary to fix it now, but do you see how this wall is kind of bowed out, like it's pregnant? That's the plaster loosening from the wood lath behind it." _

_Together, we explored every inch of the house. As the afternoon went on, he tugged at windows, crawled into dark spaces, peeked behind loose boards, skimmed his hands across walls, examined door frames, and generally got to know every nook and cranny. Just when I thought there was nothing more to be discovered about its inner workings, he asked for a ladder, and then climbed up into the space above my kitchen._

_Suddenly, just his head poked down. I laughed at the sight._

"_You have wattle and daub up here."_

_Was he deadly serious or intensely excited? Somehow, for him, it seemed the same. "Excuse me?"_

"_Sookie, there's a wattle-and-daub wall here. Maybe the best preserved section of wattle and daub I've ever seen."_

"_That's a good thing, right?"_

_He chuckled. "Better than good. Remember what I told you about the plaster and lath on that other wall? Wattle and daub is a similar, more primitive method used by early colonial settlers. I'm stunned it's still here. Mind if I take a picture?"_

"_Of course not."_

_But he'd already gotten a driven, single-minded kind of set to his mouth, not even waiting for my answer before he'd strode out to his car, returning with a big, fancy-looking camera. I took a seat at the kitchen table, watching the light from his camera flash overhead like bolts of thunderless lightning._

_He still had that intense look on his face as he was climbing down the ladder, which is maybe why he didn't notice me at first standing right there, his expression changing to surprise. _

"_Now I see how you get so dirty." I reached toward him to swipe some cobwebs off his shoulder. "The maid missed those about 200 years ago."_

_And then, just like that, the house around us shushed its resonant hum. We stood before each other, the full length of our bodies hovering just outside the point where two magnets would snap together._

"_Do you feel that too?" I asked, my voice caught in a skipped whisper._

_Silent stillness passed back and forth between us until suddenly, he committed the first move. My body alerted to that flicker of motion, that stirring of underbrush, and—fighting instincts to flee—stayed, held ground, even invited him with a slight sway of hips. Watching his hands reach toward me, I felt the long, lonely stretch of touchless nights and the lovely, jangly shiver of anticipation. Finally, his arms slinked around my waist. _

_Pulling me closer, he leaned down, resting his forehead against the top of my head. He seemed lost in thought until he breathed sharply, seemingly on the verge of a verbal leap. The words he would speak would release any inhibitions. _

_"Sookie, I'm just passing through for the summer. I can't commit to anything else. I have…obligations."_

"_My life is complicated too." I sighed with relief against him, eagerly anticipating a summer of carefree abandonment, and tilted my mouth toward his. He was already there, brushing his lips against mine purposefully, parting them, sharing warmth. _

_As far as first kisses go, this one was epic, long and slow and sweet and incomparable-just like a first kiss should be-nurtured and coddled and coaxed on a low burn that later would be hard to control without flaring. But at that moment—at that very moment when our lips joined—the gentle tug of our first kiss stretched on and on like a pulled piece of taffy, warm and soft—lingering, lingering, and lingering still—until finally broken, trailed wispy smiles._

_And then we spontaneously combusted._

_Without giving it any thought, I released the towel still wrapped around me, standing before him in nothing more than my bikini. Immediately, his fingers plucked at the strings of my top, the scraps falling to the ground. "I've been meaning to do that all afternoon," he laughed as he kissed his way down my neck, sounding deadly serious at the same time. His warm breath slipped into the crevices of my throat. My own fingers had found their way to the nape of his neck, where I tugged to release his hair. He pressed his solid form against my bare body, drawing a long, jagged breath out of both of us._

_We tripped and groped our way to the parlor then, shedding clothes along the way, and tumbled onto the sofa in front of the cavernous fireplace. Though for now the fireplace yawned dark and empty, the blackened bricks told the story of centuries of fire and heat. Here, my breasts would spill over his warm hands. Here, hard and soft flesh would meet. And here, the shadow of his broad shoulders would fold over me like a cloak. _

"_Look at me," Eric directed in that bold, confident voice of his. But when I pushed against his shoulders, he yielded, flipping over with me onto the floor. Here, I would brace my palms against his thrumming chest. Here, his hands would ply the flesh of my hips and thighs. Here I would not be contained. _

_The house held us, held quiet, uttered not a single moan or creak, our panting and labored breathing stuffing the silence, splitting its seams. When the moment came, the house swelled and gasped, drawing its whooshing breath over us through its gaping mouth. And its hand-hewn timbers, still lithe and supple, would give, but not give way._

_For a moment, we both lay absolutely still, joined intimately. I felt for sure that all the sturdy parts of me had turned to jelly. My surroundings now back in focus, I looked at the chaos around us—the strewn pillows, clothes, afghans, and condom wrapper. And then, stretching my arms out, I set free a deep belly laugh that sounded like a stranger to me. "That was amazing."_

_Below, he observed me in smug amusement before joining my laughter. _

"_Come on," I said, abruptly climbing off of him. "I don't think you've seen my shower head yet." _

_

* * *

_**A/N: **So... big chapter in the storyline. I thought long & hard about this one, which is why I delayed posting it, and I'm really curious about your thoughts...What do you think about their relationship? Do they have a connection? Is it just sex? Something more? Is it sleazy? Romantic? Messed up? Something else? All of the above?

~Sookie's recliner, The Green Monster, is named after the big green wall that prevents many homeruns from being hit in Fenway Park.

**~Thanks, makesmyheadspin, & peppermintyrose too.~**

**Disclaimer:** _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I am just taking them on a tour of New England._


	7. Alternating Realities

**Recap of Previous Chapter**: While Sookie's friends welcome her home, L.L. pays a visit and attempts to insinuate himself back into her & E.J.'s lives. Sookie recalls Eric's first visit to her home last summer.

* * *

Chapter 7: **Alternating Realities**

"Sookie! Sookie, wake up."

Grumbling my way out of a deep slumber, I found myself looking right at Tara and E.J.. I blinked hard, as if I could clear away the blue-gray film of early morning light. _Very_ early morning light. The day was squatting much too low over us.

"Is it two hours already?"

"Yeah," Tara grumbled back. She looked a little rough around the edges. Like I felt.

I reached for E.J. and pulled him close. "Long night, huh?"

"I don't know how you are going to do this on your own. Have you figured anything out yet?"

"Nothing definite. Amelia is coming by later today to take a look around. Sounds like she's interested in renting a room. Sam said he'd help put the word out that I'm looking for a live-in nanny. And I placed an ad on Craigslist."

A roommate would help with the money situation, but what I really needed was a live-in nanny, someone who would help me take care of E.J. in exchange, at least in part, for room and board. Figuring my home was one of my biggest assets (who wouldn't want to live on the beach?) I'd use her for all she was worth. I needed all the help I could get.

"I'll ask around too. If you're all set here, I'm heading home. Laf on duty tonight?"

"After work." I had a string of people who had offered to help me at nighttime with E.J. until I was fully back on my feet and his jaundice was cleared.

"Call me if you need anything otherwise. I set the alarm for two hours, so try to get some more sleep." She leaned down to hug me goodbye and then left. I heard her creak down my old staircase, open my door, toss in my newspaper, and then lock the door behind her. The snapping sound of the bolt told me she was gone.

I was alone- for the very first time- with my baby.

Really alone.

Like no-other-adult-in-the-house kind of alone.

It was kind of crazy how alone I felt.

_I felt the motion of the bed as his long body shifted. Though he was soundly asleep, his presence was comforting. I reached out…_

The alarm woke me up. E.J. was still latched on, though not really eating, and it was time for another feeding. I groaned, feeling like an abused vending machine. _Breast is best._ My ass. At the moment, I wasn't feeling especially motherly, and if I had had a can of formula sitting around, E.J. and I would have cracked it open like it was a celebratory bottle of champagne. I imagined myself tackling Nurse Pepto, wrangling a free can of formula out of her.

Easing out of bed with E.J. still attached, I realized I would need to change the sheets and get myself cleaned up. Cripes. It was like I had the period from hell. How long was this supposed to go on? Weeks? I hadn't paid careful enough attention to all of Nurse Pepto's post-partum care instructions.

The more pressing issue was that I didn't know what to do with E.J.. Could I leave him here, asleep? Would he be okay for a few minutes? Babies that age couldn't roll, right? Deciding I'd rather be safe than sorry, I took him into the nursery. He started to fuss as soon as I stuck my pinky in his mouth to get him detached. And then when I placed him in his crib and his head touched the cool sheet, he was downright pissed. What else was I going to do? I decided I could be quick.

But there was nothing simple about a trip to the bathroom these days, and by the time I emerged, E.J. was screaming his rhythmic angry cry, and I was shaking. Hurriedly, I plucked his stiffened body out of the crib and tried shushing in his ear as I tugged my shirt up to get him latched on again. His little mouth wavered for a second or two before he resumed screaming. I tried again. And again. No go. By then I was rocking from side to side, trying to keep both of us calm.

A pacifier_. _Future orthodontal woes be damned. Little babies need to suck. Better than using me, right? I bent down to rummage through the diaper bag. Didn't I stash one of those green hospital pacies in here? There it was. Mm-hmm. Underneath the cool pads. Fumbling, with one hand I tore open the package and tickled it around his stiff lips. He was too caught up in screaming to notice it. Or maybe he just didn't like it.

"_That was amazing."_

My own thoughts startled me. I pulled E.J. up onto my shoulder and tried rubbing his back. Maybe he just needed to be burped, especially after all of this crying. I rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and patted. Then I sat down in the rocker by the window and held him up in a sitting position with his head supported as I patted and rubbed some more.

"_How's that? Am I hitting the right spot?"_

"_Mmmph."_

_We were in Eric's dune shack, up in the loft area containing just his bed. Straddled over him, I kneaded the muscles across his back and shoulders. "I take it that's a good thing."_

"_Mmmph."_

"_You're really tense." _

_He turned over to face me, and rested his hands in the small of my waist, right where they fit. "For a woman your size, you're very strong."_

"_And do you like strong women?"_

"_Yes, I like a challenge."_

"_A challenge? I guess I should put up more of a fight then. Make you work for it." _

_He laughed._

"_What, you think I can't make you work for it?"_

"_I think you're challenging enough. Just not in the way that you're thinking."_

"_What?"_

"_You heard me."_

_I leaned down to meet his lips, which were smiling broadly. _

"_It's too hard to kiss smiling lips. What's so damn funny?"_

"_Right now, you are."_

"_And how is that?" I sat back up, still straddling him._

"_Like I said, I love a good challenge."_

"_I don't know what you're talking about, __mystery man, all quiet and inscrutable." _

"_Ask me anything. I'll tell you. What do you want to know?" _

"_I want to know how long I'm going to have to wait for a decent kiss."_

"_I rest my case."_

"_That's just puzzle-talking. Now, kiss me, you fool."_

Why couldn't I figure this out?

"E.J., tell mama what I'm missing." I heard the tremor in my voice.

Turning him around, I tried to get him latched onto the other side. I tried a different hold, tucking him under my arm like a little football. I tried rocking. I tried swaying. I tried bouncing. Nope, no, and no again.

"Shhhhhh, E.J.. Shhhhhh." I shushed again and again. I even tried singing for the poor thing. That almost made _me_ cry.

His cries alternated between a rhythmic, angry scream and sputtering, gagging silence. I could feel the panic in myself surging. What if something was wrong?

I spoke aloud, hoping the sound might soothe him.

"E.J., what am I missing? Is it your jaundice? You don't look more yellow. You even look a little better."

Hearing my own thready voice made me realize even more that I was the only adult in the house. No one else was here to help me. Lafayette would be here later, but not for another...ten hours. Something like that. My brain couldn't handle math at the moment. Tara. I could always call Tara.

Sweet Jesus, the screaming was making it hard to even think. His piercing wails scraped directly against every raw nerve fiber in my body.

If. Only. He'd. Just. Stop. Screaming.

"_No one is going to hear you out here in the middle of nowhere," Eric prodded, breathing heavily._

_Though I could see little in the dark of nighttime, I could feel the rolling dunes around us, hear the whisperings of their grasses come to life. Here in the shack, alone, we were just a speck of sand swallowed up by the wide world around us._

"_You like noise?"_

"_Mmmm." He bent his mouth toward my ear._

_I groaned at the wild mix of pleasures- the flitting quiver of his tongue coupling with the massive press of his body over mine._

"_You can do better than that." _

"_So can you," I gasped, toying with him. "Make me scream."_

_He laughed, pulling up and disentangling himself from my legs. He tugged on me to flip over, lifted my hips, and sank into me from behind._

"_Come on, Sookie. Give it up for me," he coaxed._

_We were both sweating profusely. I could feel a droplet running between my breasts. "I love getting hot with you."_

_He leaned down, nuzzling the wetness from his forehead into the crevice of my neck as he kissed along my shoulder. And then I was gone, feeling the heat roll over me, undulating like the living dunes around us._

His temperature! I should take his temperature. Maybe change his diaper too. He'd never seemed to be bothered by a dirty diaper before, but I figured it would be worth a try anyway. Steeling myself against his wails, I did my best to lift a fresh diaper underneath him and then fumbled with the thermometer.

"Easy, there, big guy. I know this is no fun. No fun for me either." I hoped I was doing it right. Nurse Carney had given me a demo, but this was my first time solo. With a screaming infant.

"Nope. No temperature. Looks like we need to change your diaper again, though." Yeah. And now we both needed baths. Like that was gonna happen. I couldn't even pee in peace. I fumbled underneath the changing table, looking for another diaper, and came up with an empty bag. How did that happen so fast?

"Where did all the diapers go, stinky boy?" I laughed a shaky kind of laugh. Luckily I had more. Across the room.

With one hand on his tiny body, I stretched my foot out as far as it would go and managed to kick and drag a new package of diapers close enough to bend down and pick them up. Meanwhile, E.J.'s screams seemed to amplify, something I wouldn't have thought possible even a minute ago. I grasped the edge of the changing table hard, my fingertips digging into the foam padding, and felt the tears start to trickle.

_Shut. The. Hell. Up._ The ugly thought popped into my head, as if some monster had simply inserted it there. But it was my own voice in my head saying those raw words, showing me at once how a mature adult could break over that horrible edge. I knew I wouldn't, but even empathizing with that feeling was scary.

_I collapsed under Eric, my quivering thighs unable to hold my weight anymore. Watching him flop beside me, looking utterly sated himself, I laughed in a happy, joyful kind of way, feeling the stiff parts of me soften and relax, unbridled. He shook his head, speechless and breathless, before pulling me close to kiss me. _

_Inside I tingled, feeling a strength growing. _

I needed to take action. A different kind of action. I walked back into the nursery with E.J., made an extra effort to lay him down in his crib gently, and walked out, closing the door behind him. I just needed a minute to catch my breath and calm down. I walked downstairs to the kitchen, where his crying was muted—though, cripes, still audible—and with shaking hands, grabbed a cool drink of water, a painkiller, and the first piece of food I laid eyes on, which happened to be a plain piece of sandwich bread, and ate it like it was a gourmet meal. Then I set up all of my gear—my nursing pillow, donut, TV remote, and cordless phone—took a minute to take a few relaxing breaths, and headed back upstairs, giving myself a pep talk along the way. I'd give it another go, but if we hit the three-hour mark (in 27 minutes) and he was still crying, then I'd call Dr. Ludwig.

I sat down with him in the Green Monster, forced my shoulders to stay relaxed, and tried expressing a little bit of milk, something I _had_ managed to retain from Nurse Pepto's lecture.

Milk squirted out across the room. Like by about a foot.

In disbelief, I did it again. A wet spray sprinkled over E.J.'s cheek.

And then suddenly, I was giggling-and tearing up a little bit too-at the strangeness and weirdness and overwhelming-ness of it all.

E.J. continued wailing, but eventually, after he got a little taste in his mouth, not sprayed across his face, he started to settle, alternating swallows with whimpers, until he finally settled into a rhythm, the quiet clicking sounds of his gulping a salve for my sore ears and battered spirit.

Two hours and fifty-three minutes. That's how long he had been crying.

Two hours and fifty-three minutes.

But we'd done it.

What time was it? Ten AM? I was ready to call it a day. Yep. Time for bed. I might have sat there and had a good cry myself—why let E.J. have all the fun- but I think I was still too shell-shocked. Traumatized. But for as numb as I felt, there was no denying the jarring differences between then and now. Last summer was long gone.

This was a new chapter. In the next book. Of a different genre.

* * *

**A/N** Ugh. Those crying spells are tough, aren't they? (Show of hands) I felt like it was important to acknowledge what single parenthood might be like for Sookie.

So, when is Sookie going to get back on Eric's trail? She'll get back on it next chapter, but I want to point out that a good bit of her search goes on in those flashbacks. Plus the poor girl is still recovering from the birth of her 10-pounder.

**Thanks, makesmyheadspin! **(She's a beta who tells me funny stories on demand).

**~Thanks for reading!~**

**Disclaimer: **_All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._**  
**


	8. Missing

**Recap of Previous Chapter:** Sookie spends a long, hard morning with E.J. and realizes how much her life has changed.

* * *

Chapter 8: **Missing**

"Hello, Had Peabody speaking."

"Hello, Had?"

"Yes."

"It's Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse."

After recovering from my three-hour morning mayhem with E.J., I decided I was ready to take another try at finding Eric. My next step was to call Had Peabody, the family friend who oversaw the rentals of some of the dune shacks.

"Sookie! How are you? I was just talking about you the other day. Maggie Twomey from over at Elder Services mentioned that you'd had your baby, but she didn't know what you had."

News sure does travel quickly around here doesn't it? I'd only gotten home yesterday—today was April 5—and already news of the birth had traveled via the local network from one end of the Cape to the other.

"A boy."

"A boy! Your Gran would be so proud. Oh! I didn't mean it that way! I mean, she would have been proud either way—boy or girl."

"She would have loved him to pieces." 'Proud' might not be the right word, but she would have opened her arms wide to E.J.. Suddenly, I felt very sad knowing that they'd never meet each other.

"Anyway, congratulations. That's what I really mean to say. Enjoy him now while you can, hon. It goes so fast."

_Right. 'Cuz this morning went zooming by._ "Thanks, Had. I sure will. He's a keeper, all right."

He chuckled. "I remember what it was like with my own kids. They get tangled in your heartstrings before you even know what's happening. Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to get in touch with someone who rented a dune shack from you last summer. His name is Eric Northman. Tall guy. Blond hair. The one you sent to me about my house."

"I know exactly who you mean. Have you heard from him lately?"

Disappointment had already set in. "No. That's why I'm calling you. I'm trying to get in touch with him to see whether he could help with some work I'm planning to do on my home."

"He's not on my list this summer. In fact, I tried to reach him last fall, sometime before Thanksgiving, but his cell phone was no longer working, and his work just gave me a run-around. Since I didn't get a deposit from him by Jan 1, I had to move down my list."

"Oh. All right then." I didn't know what else to say.

"Listen, if you talk to him, let him know I tried to get in touch with him. I know how much he liked those shacks, but you know how it is with that waitlist."

"It's okay, Had. I know you have to play by the rules or else there'd be hell to pay."

"You have no idea. Those waitlisters are vicious even when I do play it straight. But I don't know what else to suggest for you. Maybe you could try calling other architecture firms in the area."

"Thanks, Had. I'll give that a try."

"Sorry I couldn't do more. How's Jason?"

I really needed to get off the phone. "Just fine. Thanks for asking. I'll stop by with the baby next time I come through."

"Can't wait to meet him! Take care, hon."

"You too, Had."

The phone disconnection clicked in my ear. For a moment, I felt myself sink into my own little pity party.

_The thin light of the kerosene lamp was the only source of illumination in that one room. We'd opened the windows and felt the strong ocean breezes chase through the shack, but the light held true, shielded by its chimney._

There was more work to be done.

After getting E.J. settled in the sling, I started up my computer and searched first for Eric's name. The hits were scrappy at best. There was a paper he'd co-written, probably when he was in school, on historic architectural investigation. Then I found someone's web page of a house renovation. I couldn't tell the location, or whose home it was, but Eric was listed as the lead architect. No contractor was listed. I also found it strange that the date of the renovation seemed to pre-date Eric's graduation from school.

Most interesting, Eric's name was no where to be found on the Leclerq website. Not only was there was no mention of how to get in contact with him, but none of the examples of previous projects, even the old home renovations, mentioned Eric's name. It was as though someone had gone through and wiped his name completely from their website. Squeaky clean, lickety split.

So then I tried searching for a listing of architecture firms in Boston and just started calling. The results, again, were dismal. Eric seemed to be well-known as someone who specialized in old homes. Most knew of the changes at Leclerq and wondered where he'd gone. More than a few mentioned that though they had tried, they hadn't been able to get in touch with him. For a big, well-known guy, he sure had managed to pull off a disappearing act.

I was so absorbed by the search that I lost track of time and realized I was overdue to feed E.J. and that Amelia would be arriving soon. With E.J. still in the sling, I raced around as best as I could—waddled was more like it—trying to get the place straightened up to meet a potential roommate. I picked up a load of trailed laundry from the floor alone. Tripping over a bouncy seat, I wondered how all of this baby gear had wrangled so much space in our home.

As Amelia was knocking on the front door, I realized I hadn't brushed my hair or straightened up my rumpled, shapeless clothes.

"Hi, Sookie!" Amelia greeted me with her usual enthusiasm, but then stopped herself, casting a nervous look over me. "Can I help you?"

"No, I'm fine. Sorry I'm in such a state. Things won't be like this always. It's just that last night was our first night home."

"Oh! I shouldn't have come today!"

"No, no," I reassured her. "I'm glad you came. The sooner, the better."

"Look at him! So content and sweet." _Ahem. _

She peered over the side of the sling before turning to look out toward the water. "I had no idea you had such a view! Right on the bay. And so secluded."

"Yep. We have access to the beach down that path over there. The beach itself is technically not our property, but other than the access from my property or the two properties next to me, the only way to get to it is by boat, so no one else ever shows up. That floating dock about 50 yards out is ours to use too."

"Who are your neighbors?"

"William Compton lives on that side of us. He's very quiet. Keeps to himself usually. Spends some time out in his gardens during the summer. But he works a lot and rarely ever goes down to the beach. And on the other side, a professor from a school in Boston comes during school breaks. He'll bring family sometimes in the summer, but they stay over on their side, on the other side of those rocks."

Amelia had turned back toward the front door.

"Come on in and I'll show you around. It's nothing fancy, but I do try to keep it clean."

"Oh," Amelia breathed, "How old is this house?"

_His eyes lit up as his hands ran across the rough-hewn beam, the dents of the crude tools used to shape it still embedded in the wood grain. "Sookie, this was all done by hand using hand-forged tools. Might have even come from a tree cut down right on your property." _

"I don't know exactly. Pretty old."

"Sookie, it's amazing."

I stopped to appreciate her compliment. "Thanks. It's special to me too." I didn't know who I'd be without it.

I brought her into the largest room at the front of the house, the one Gran always called the parlor.

"_This was originally the most important part of the house, where all of the meals were cooked right there in that fireplace."_

"Just look at that huge fireplace! You could walk into it! Does it still work?"_ Oh, yes, quite well._

"Yep. I don't use it often because of all the trouble hauling wood. Or I'm not able to tend to it."

"Is that a separate room through that door over there?"

"_I bet that door leads down into a small, sunken room?"_

"_Yeah. It's really creepy. Gran used to call it the hidey hole."_

"_They would have used that to store food through the winter."_

"It's a small storage space, but I don't use it for anything but garden tools since it's unfinished."

"And look at these floor boards!"

"_King's boards, so named because they were so wide, the story goes, they were reserved for the king's use._

"This would be your room over here, with a nice view of the bay. I'm sorry it doesn't have a closet, but you can use that armoire. I emptied it out."

Amelia stepped into the room and headed right toward the window. "When can I move in? Oh! I'm sorry! You haven't even offered me the room yet. I just got so excited about it."

As tired as I was, I let Amelia's energy wash over me, not even bothering to try to keep up with her emotionally. "It's yours if you want it." Whether or not she'd drive me nuts didn't even matter. I needed the money, and I knew from working with her at the diner that she was no ax murderer.

I excused myself to sit down and let her poke around the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom on her own. And then before I knew what was happening, I was holding a rent check, a nanny referral, and the phone number for her dad, who apparently was a big contractor on the Cape.

I counted it a successful afternoon. (You have to count your blessings, right?)

Before I crashed with E.J., I left two messages, one for the potential nanny, Octavia, and another for Amelia's dad.

It was the sound of L.L.'s voice that woke me up. Disoriented, I jolted up off the sofa and found myself wobbling into his arms. Immediately, I became aware of the background noise of the alarm clock.

"What?" I stammered, confused, looking up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came over to check on you and pick up some things I had left behind. I tried knocking, but you didn't answer. And I could hear your alarm clock. I was worried, and your door was unlocked, so…"

L.L.'s eyes diverted nervously from mine, looking down toward the sofa and then back to me. He gripped my elbow tighter.

"What?" I stammered again, wishing the blasted alarm clock would stop sounding. I reached back to shut it off and caught sight of the sofa, a bright red staining the cushion where I had been resting. Now fully awake, I cursed myself. I'd never be able to get that stain out. And it wasn't like new furniture would be in my future anytime soon.

"I'll call Dr. Ludwig."

"I'm okay. I just fell asleep for longer than I should have."

I threw an afghan onto the sofa and sat back down, hot tears stinging my cheeks. This little incident would probably set back my separation from L.L. by a few weeks.

"Would you mind handing E.J. to me?"

He was reaching for the baby when the phone rang.

"Just leave it," I snapped.

He stood there awkwardly as the message started. "Sookie. This is Copley Carmichael calling you back about that architect you are looking for. I don't know him, but if he specializes in antique homes, you really should call Pamela Ravenscroft…"

"Pam Ravenscroft?" L.L. spat out. "What are you doing with her?"

"Nothing! It's not your business."

E.J. started to fuss. I leaned down to shush in his ear.

"Sookie, trust me. You do not want to get involved with that woman!"

I rubbed my forehead in an attempt to gain some clarity and lucidity.

"Sookie! Do you hear me? You do not want to call that woman!" L.L.'s hands grasped my shoulders.

I was less distracted by his touch than by the insistent tone in his voice. Also, I had the nagging suspicion that I had heard that name before.

"Pam Ravenscroft." I said aloud, trying to jog my memory.

"Pam Ravenscroft," L.L. said again, "is the building commissioner for the Cape Cod Historic Preservation Society. She's known as a real hard ass. If your house gets listed in the Cape Cod historic registry, then trust me when I say that no building improvement gets past her without her explicit approval. Federal standards are nothing. You get involved with her, and your home improvement expenses will cripple you. I've seen it happen to others."

L.L.'s eyes had never looked so certain and convincing.

"So essentially she oversees any kind of building improvement or renovation for buildings that are listed as historic?"

"Yes."

And then I remembered…

_Stepping out of the hidey hole, he'd said, "Looks like you might need to do some repair work to the foundation, which could be costly, and you don't want to let just anyone handle it. I know someone who can help you, though. Pam Ravenscroft. She can help you get some tax breaks and maybe even some grant money."_

"Pam Ravenscroft!" Excited that I had remembered her name, I mused aloud, "Why would Eric have given me her name if she would cause me trouble?"

The words spilled out like hot coffee from a tipped mug. I wanted to pull them back before they splashed the surface of the table, before they scalded anyone, but once they flowed, they would not be contained again.

Now it was L.L. who looked puzzled. He didn't even have the tact to hide the fact that he was trying to figure out who Eric was.

"Eric?" he said aloud.

Desperate for any kind of distraction, I started babbling, "L.L., can you believe how much laundry a baby makes? I've already done a full load of blankets and towels and onesies and sleepers and…"

"Eric." He said again, simply. And then his face shifted, his features changing from a look of puzzlement to one of grim recognition. Though he said nothing else, I knew he was making some internal connection that he would not share.

"What, L.L.? What's the matter?"

"I mean it, Sookie. Stay away from her."

"You're hiding something from me! What is it?"

"Just stay away from her." He walked toward the door.

"L.L.! You can't just leave!"

For once, that's exactly what he did.

What he knew, I didn't know, but the more I thought about it, the more confused I became about what I knew about Eric.

* * *

"_Have you called Pam Ravenscroft yet?"_

"_Who?"_

"_Pamela Ravenscroft. The woman who can help with historic home preservation."_

"_No."_

_Truth was, when it came to money woes, I felt like I already had a big heaping plateful of more than my share. I wasn't about to go back for more. Not when I could have a side dish of Eric to myself all summer instead. "I'll get to it in the fall." _

"_Don't wait too long. You know government agencies."_

_We were sitting sideways, facing each other, on the rattan sofa out in the screened porch area that spanned the side of my house. From his position, he could look out to the ocean, while I faced the pond._

_I leaned over to kiss him. He gave me the equivalent of a peck and pulled back._

_I admit I felt a little snubbed. His brooding mood was opposite my own on this early summer evening. The quiet poke of impatience needled me._

_I rearranged my feet. I smoothed my ponytail. I tugged on the straps of my camisole. I fluffed a pillow. Finally, noticing his empty glass, I poured him some more wine. Red. His favorite. _

_His lips met the curve of his wine glass as he tilted his head back, the sound of his rippling swallow joining the other noises around us—the lapping of the waves, the crinkle of fabric beneath us, and the steady call of the frogs in the pond. _

_Gunk. Gunk._

_I laughed. Amidst the deep mooing noises of the bullfrogs, a green frog had called out like a mistuned banjo string. "I'm glad we're not frogs."_

"_Hmm?"_

"_I'm glad we're not frogs. That's their mating call. So not sexy."_

_He smiled, though I got the impression it was more out of politeness than his finding humor in anything I had said. I wondered how I could break this dark, pensive mood._

_I darted forward impulsively to lick his lips. "I love the taste of wine and you."_

"_How do I taste?"_

"_Hmm…I need another sample." I tasted him again. "Dark and robust and meaty."_

_He leaned forward, reciprocating. "That's funny. I taste lush and juicy and well-rounded." _

_I scooted down a little and rested my head against his arm, stretched across the back of the sofa. He leaned back again. "There are no lightning bugs here."_

"_What?"_

"_You know—fireflies."_

"_No. I don't think I've ever seen them."_

"_Do you mean you've never seem them here or you've never seen them anywhere?"_

_The way he said the word 'anywhere' made me feel small and inexperienced. The scope of my world had indeed been limited, a fact now painfully obvious in a discussion about insects, of all things._

"_Never seen them," I admitted, feigning a flippant tone. And then I was reaching out, toward his waistband, toward the familiar softness of his favorite belt. Eric, I had come to learn, was a casual dresser, enjoying comfort over all else. It just so happened that the closest shopping district near his home was Newbury Street, so the clothes he wore with designer labels were merely a matter of convenience._

_I tugged at his belt, attempting to pull him toward me, but the solid mass of him toppled me into him instead._

_He laughed, the edges of his mouth broadening into that funny, unexpected smile of his, a splash of color on an otherwise dark palette. A cupcake atop crossbones. He met my lips softly and tenderly. I leaned into his hand, his thumb stroking my jawline. His touch alone would have been enough to hold me, the way he devoted his attentions to every little part of me. Where his thumb had played, his lips trailed, mingling kisses and nips with the whispered warmth of his breath. I sighed, my contentment coming from deep and low within. It was just about all I could do to keep myself from heaving my whole body against his, knowing what miracle he'd be able to work. _

_But once again, he pulled back, looking out into the yard. "It's funny. I never noticed they aren't here."_

"_What?" _

"_The fireflies. When I was a kid, in Pennsylvania, I used to catch them." _

"_I guess I don't know what I'm missing." _

"_Oh?" He reached over to stroke my arm, tracing wispy patterns. Leaning his head down onto the back of the sofa, next to mine, his eyes drew me into his searching, scrutinizing gaze. My breath caught as an unexpected surge of adrenaline goaded my heart. _

_His eyes flickered over my shoulder. "Is that your Gran?" His fingers continued stroking._

_I steadied my breath, pushed composure over me, before turning to where he was looking. "Ah, mm-hmm." That was one of my favorites pictures of her. She'd skipped out on a Daughters of the American Revolution luncheon that day to throw on a pair of overalls and dig in her garden. There she was, in her full glory, dirty, sweaty, and supremely happy. _

_When I turned back to Eric, he'd inched closer. His mouth trailed kisses down, down my neck, down, down my chest to the lacy top of my camisole, where he pressed his cheek. My heart thundered in my chest in a way that felt abusive. _

_Abruptly, he pulled back, eyes widening. I wondered whether he had heard the same pounding in his ears that I heard in mine._

"_You surprise me." His voice sounded throaty._

_I breathed hard, my heart thrashing against its claustrophobic confines. Confused about what was provoking me so uncomfortably, I shoved aside anxiety and grabbed hold of a different kind of arousal—raw lust and desire. _

_Raw lust and desire would have their way, give flight._

_I slid to the floor. Tugging at his other leg tucked up on the sofa, I positioned myself between his legs. My hands rubbed against his thighs, stroking upwards firmly before pushing his shirt up, feeling the tightening ripple of muscle under smooth skin. Holding his gaze, I freed him from his jeans and in one swift motion, plunged my mouth deep around him. He gasped, shifting beneath me, the hard touch of his fingers traveling restlessly as tension wound tight. And when his shudders faded, he leaned down to kiss me deeply, his mouth pressed resolutely against mine. _

_Parting, I smiled mischievously at him. "I don't think I missed anything."_

_

* * *

_Only now I wondered. Which pieces of the Eric Northman puzzle was I missing?

* * *

**A/N **Hmm...any ideas? Sit tight, folks, and enjoy the ride. There's another big E/S flashback coming up next chapter, which should post soon, if FFN cooperates.**  
**

**~Thanks for reading!~**

Thanks, makesmyheadspin, for beta-ing.**  
**

**Disclaimer: **_All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._

_The cupcake-atop-crossbones design belongs to Johnny Cupcakes._


	9. Independence Day, Part 1

**Recap of previous chapter**: Sookie runs into more roadblocks in her attempts to find Eric, but turns up the name of another lead, Pamela Ravenscroft, through Amelia's dad. She realizes the name is familiar and remembers why: Eric had suggested she call Pam for help with historic home preservation. When L.L. warns her vehemently not to call Pam, Sookie starts to wonder what Eric might have been hiding from her.

And, we're flashing back...

* * *

Chapter 9: **Independence Day, Part ****1**

"_Crap. It's Sam. I need to take this."_

_I had barely heard my cell phone ringing over the din of the boisterous bar crowd and would have missed it entirely if Eric hadn't pointed it out. _

_Eric and I had broken from our usual routine of hiding ourselves away at either my house or in the "love shack," as we'd come to affectionately call it, to spend the evening blending in with the mass of tourists in Provincetown celebrating July 4th. It might have been the first major holiday in...cripes, forever that I wasn't working. Sam had been surprised, wondering aloud what plans I had, but when I ignored his not-so-subtle curiosity, he dropped the matter. He couldn't really put up a fuss in any case since I'd always been so reliable._

_But I would need to take his call. _

_Sounding harried, Sam wasted no time with pleasantries. "Sookie, I've got a problem here with Debbie Pelt. She's causing a big commotion, claiming she's going to "Were" tonight. I told her it wasn't a full moon and gave her a rare steak, but that didn't seem to calm her down. And I can't get in touch with Alcide."_

_I winced. Sam had limited understanding of mental illness and limited tact for dealing with it. Debbie could be especially tough to manage. I'd seen her like this once or twice before, when her mental illness had hijacked her brain, shoving out all evidence of rationality. To make matters worse, once she destabilized, she had a bad habit of taking up alcohol or much worse._

"_Sounds like she's gone off her meds again." Last time she had done that, she ended up wandering naked in the cedar swamp. "What's her face look like?"_

"_To be honest, I never thought she was very pretty. I always wondered what Alcide saw in her."_

"_Her skin, Sam. Does it look like she's been picking at it?"_

"_Oh, yeah. And her teeth look like hell."_

_My stomach sank. Meth mouth. "Just call 911."_

"_You sure?"_

"_Nothing else you can do. And I'm really sorry."_

"_Not your fault."_

"_Well, yes and no." _

_Sam sighed into the phone. _

_I rolled my eyes. "All right, all right. Let's not get into this discussion again. I know you have your hands full. Call if you need more help."_

_As I was hanging up, I could hear Sam in the background, "Debbie, how about another steak?"_

_I took a big swallow of my gin and tonic. Then another._

_Eric sat next to me, shoulder-to-shoulder, quietly watching for a few minutes before reaching his arm across me to squeeze the bands of tension tightening in my neck. I rolled my head, trying to relax into it. Sitting here amidst the celebratory crowd, suddenly, I felt extremely out of place. I wanted to be back in the comfort of my own home. _

_Finally, he broke the silence between us, "Why do you do it?"_

"_What?" I knew immediately what he was asking, but stalled for more time._

"_Why do you do it?"_

_I sighed, not really interested in getting into a deep discussion at that moment. He wasn't asking an easy question, one that even I didn't know how to answer to myself. It was a question that would likely verge into personal territory I had never intended to cover with him. _

_Here, in a bar, on a summer holiday, in the middle of people having fun. _

_I deflected, "I started this meal program arrangement with Sam..."_

_Immediately he interrupted me, apparently ready for my dodge. "Not just that, but more broadly, why do you help people?"  
_

"_Damn, can I finish a sentence?" I pulled my arm away from his, annoyed that my good mood had been broken by Sam's call and now Eric's pushiness. At times like this, his intensity was a bit too much, to say the least._

_He held his hands up. "__Go ahead." He turned to sit squarely on his bar stool and take another drink of his beer. To his credit, he waited, rotating the cardboard coaster in his hand. _

_I took a deep breath, not knowing where to start, or even where I was going. "Gran started it." _

_That wasn't entirely true. She had set up a fund, but hadn't quite figured out how to administer the money before she died. Fortunately, this fund was separate from my personal accounts, so it wasn't decimated when I went broke. And then one day it started innocently enough, when I happened to run into Maudette Pickens on my way into work. She'd looked so down-on-her luck that I pulled her in with me, sat her in a booth, and bought her lunch. It took off from there._

"_But you continued it. It's your program now."_

"_The nice thing about this kind of a program is that it's a less threatening way for people to get hooked into the system. People trust me because I'm just a working girl slinging hash just like they are."_

"_Mm-hmm..." _

_I deflected back to Sam. "Sam's been extremely flexible.. There are huge liability issues for him, which we've managed well so far. Most of the time we can solve the problem by giving people a meal and helping them get hooked in with other established agencies. Those agencies do the heavy lifting. And we've never promoted ourselves as anything but a free meal. Actually, promoted is not the right word here because we never promote ourselves as anything. People talk. Word-of-mouth brings in people who need help. They just know we're here. But there's no doubt that we get crisis situations too. That's why I feel bad now being too far away to help."_

"_But essentially that means you always have to be there."_

"_This is the first time I couldn't be there to help."_

"_I'm not blaming you for anything. I'm just saying it's a really big responsibility."_

_His laser-like questions were making me squirm. While I had no trouble sharing the intimate parts of my body, the intimate parts of my psyche were mostly off limits. It wasn't part of our summer plan. Mentally, I imagined myself sliding off the bar stool and wandering out into the crowds outside on the sidewalk. I wouldn't get very far before he'd track me down. _

_Instead, I reached across to slide my hand up and down his thigh, reaching ever higher._

_He placed a firm hand on top of mine, stilling it in place. His eyes, never leaving my face, were waiting expectantly. Inside, I wriggled again, then blurted out, "It's just what I do. I'm good at understanding people."_

_Without pausing, he rejoined, "Yes, but you could use that ability any way you wanted...business, for example."_

_I wrinkled my nose. "I want to help people, not take their money."_

"_Okay. So...?" He was leaning toward me, practically pressing his body against mine. _

_I tried another tactic, attempting to lead him into a discussion of a related, but different topic. "So basically what you're asking me here is whether there is such a thing as altruism."_

_Eric rolled his eyes and waved his hands impatiently. "No. I'm not asking whether altruism exists-whether it's possible to do something good for someone else for completely selfless reasons. We can save that debate for another time, though I have little patience for it because it always comes back to the question of how you define altruism."_

"_Hmph. So I guess we can't talk about anything you don't want to talk about."_

_I wanted to take a big, long gulp of my gin and tonic, but it was gone. Tipping way, way back to get one last trickle, my head started to swim. I raised my glass to the bartender to ask for another one, but Eric's large hands clasped around mine, bringing them back down to the bar.  
_

"_I guess we can't talk about anything that you don't want to either."_

"_Eric, that's different. You're asking me really personal questions. Grilling is more like it."_

_He pulled back, still fixing his gaze on me. His intent eyes flickered as though he were reading the text of my face. What he saw there, I wouldn't know. _

"_Never mind then. I thought it was a simple question."_

_Taking my hands in his again, he pressed his lips to mine, insistent and unmoving, staunching the ooze of hurt feelings, waiting. My heart pounded in my ears in that way that only he could make happen. _

_Oh, hell, I wanted to smack him. _

_Oh, hell I wanted him to throw me up on the bar. _

_I must have moved or done something to signal a green light because next thing I knew, his tongue was moving against mine. Yeah. The bar sounded good. The vibration of a moan rippled in my throat. What was it that we had just been fighting about?_

_He squeezed my hands. "I want to take you somewhere special."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Walk with me." He pulled me off the stool, threw some money on the bar, and guided me out the door, his hand pressed firmly in the small of my back._

_Exiting out onto the street, Eric and I immediately became absorbed by the crowds gearing up for a party. It was an eclectic mix of people, to be sure. Parents pushing strollers mingled with a diverse crowd of singles and couples looking for a different kind of fun. The undercurrent of sexuality rippling through the streets would only become stronger as the night woke up. A drag queen in impossibly high heels stopped to hand us a flier advertising a show. I admired her tan and wondered if it was real or sprayed on._

_Within a few blocks, we rounded a corner and headed down an alleyway that abruptly became dark and quiet, even on a night when people seemed to be crawling out of every corner._

"_Where are we going?"_

"_Do you trust me?" _

_I stopped to look at his face, but it was obscured by shadow. There was no way to know.  
_

"_Sure."_

"_And here I thought you were smart."_

"_I didn't say __**what**__ exactly I trusted."_

"_And what is that?"_

"_I trust that you know where we are going. I trust that you get your way, one way or another. Most of the time."_

"_Right. So why bother resisting?"_

"_There are all kinds of ways of resisting."_

"_Tell me."_

"_I can follow you without necessarily agreeing with you."_

"_How is that resisting?"_

"_Maybe I'm following you to watch and observe you."_

"_Observe me? Am I a science project?"_

"_Mmm...more like a case study." _

"_Oh? So let me get this straight. You're assessing me right now. And following me down a dark alley is resisting me? Is that what you're saying?"_

"_You'll never know for sure, will you?"_

"_I think I will."_

_He stopped to push me firmly against a high fence in the alleyway. Tangling his fingers through my hair and grasping the back of my neck, he kissed me deeply in a way that made all the parts of me plummet and soar at the same time. Wrapping my arms around him for support, I sank my hands deep into his back pockets and pulled his hips firmly against my body. His fingers trailed down my neck and played with the thin straps of my sundress. _

_He backed away. "Come with me." _

"_See this?" I took an exaggerated step forward. "I'm putting one foot in front of the other, following you. It's all part of my plan."_

"_Mm-hmm. And you could stop at any time, right?" He drew me along another few feet and then stopped again, dipping me backward over his bent knee and leaning down to nuzzle his soft lips into my cleavage. His free hand slid underneath the flare of my skirt, tickling upward, upward...upward…and then stopping._

"_I'm not following you just because you're dropping little treats along the way."_

_He snickered, grinning at me lasciviously. Standing in front of me, his body close to mine, he reached down for my hand to kiss my palm. "Is that what I am to you? A little treat?" He brushed the wispy hairs that had escaped my ponytail from my face. "Hmm?" And then, his mouth on my palm again, he stepped back, forcing me to take another step toward him._

"_I'm still collecting data, by the way."_

"_You are?" He stepped back yet again._

_I laughed, finally, at the two of us in this dark alleyway, and stepped toward him to press my body against his. That's when he launched his next wave of attack, abruptly scooping me up and slinging me over his shoulder. "Gotcha now!"_

"_Eric!" I didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "This is all going in my report!"_

_We rounded a corner into another alleyway, and then suddenly, he was stepping up into a brightly lit room. I reached back to grab at the back of my dress, concerned now that my backside was exposed._

"_I'm going to set you down now."_

_When he did, I found myself in the middle—of all places—of a bait-and- tackle store, looking face-to-face with a short man in his fifties or so with red hair. _

"_Ah! Welcome! I'm Russell."_

_Looking around, I saw that the walls of the small, cramped store, smelling of fish and musty wood, were covered in peg board, on which hung packages of fishing lures, hooks, and line. In one corner, a small display of fishing rods stood tall, and in the opposite corner, the electric motor of a live tank hummed. Compared to the darkness in the alleyway, the intense fluorescent lights gave everything a garish hue. The neon fishing lures on the wall practically vibrated. Up front, where we stood, a glass case displayed reels. Under my feet, the bare, unfinished wooden floorboards crunched with sand._

_Though I took all of this in in only a fraction of a second, my disorientation made me forget my manners, not even acknowledging Russell's greeting._

"_You must be Sookie. She's a skittish one, isn't she?" _

"_Yes," I stammered. "I mean, yes, I'm Sookie. And no, I'm not skittish."_

_Russell looked at Eric, who was practically beaming._

_I offered my hand, in spite of the slight. "Pleased to meet you." _

_He startled me by taking my hand and kissing it. "Feel free to look around." Amusement coated his voice._

"_This is your bait-and-tackle shop?" _

"_Yes. For about 15 years now. But it's been around even longer."_

"_Russell...enhanced it," Eric added. _

_I wondered, given the rustic nature of the shop, what he could have possibly enhanced, but smiled politely. _

_I read the names on some of the packages of fishing lures. "Gulp Alive. Kickin' Minnow. Swim'n Eel. Mister Twister Sassy Shad." _

"_Sweetie, we have all kinds of bait in here."_

_I looked at Eric for a clue._

"_Eric, Sookie is being a good sport. I don't think we should tease the poor girl anymore. Come over here." _

_He walked behind the case with the fishing reels and pulled a rustic box out of the display. He set it on the counter and paused. Eric nodded. I was much too confused to even fathom what could be going on here._

_Russell opened the box. Lifting off a top tray full of an assortment of feathers and strings and hooks and pliers, he revealed, underneath, another tray, lined in plush velvet. It glittered with sapphires._

"_Oh!" I couldn't help myself. It was the last thing I expected to find here, in the middle of this dingy little bait-and-tackle shop. There were so many of them, they frightened me. _

_Eric explained, "Russell likes to travel to Asia. He buys these gemstones directly from the families who mine them. Then he brings them back here and sells them as a side business."_

"_Didn't I say I sell all kinds of bait?"_

_I pulled my hands back. One little tip, and they would all scatter on the floor, mix with the sand, fall between cracks, get trampled and lost. _

_I was so distracted by the blue jewels—I had never seen so many of them at once—that I didn't notice anything else until Eric was there facing me, pressing a velvet-covered box into my hand. _

"_Look inside."_

_Without thinking, I snapped it open, revealing a sapphire brooch__, its round center stone surrounded by a sunburst pattern of swirling, radiating sapphires._

_I'd never seen anything like it._

"_You designed this?" I asked Russell. _

_He hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering, "With a little help."_

"_It's lovely. It reminds me of the sea and sky all at once." _

_I was still admiring the brooch, tracing its spires outward, when Eric's hands pressed atop mine. Suddenly he was pulling the brooch out of its box and reaching to pin it on my sundress._

_I recoiled, pulling back as though he were dangling a snake in front of me__._

"_Uh-uh. Oh, no." The pin tempted promises of love and commitment and a happily-ever-after that ultimately would languish unfulfilled. I wanted no more heartache. "I thought you understood." We'd laid out the ground rules from the very beginning. I'd only been able to physically abandon myself with him secure in those rules. _

_I glanced nervously at Russell, watching a very private moment between Eric and me._

"_It is merely a gift from me to you. It means nothing more than I want you to have something beautiful."_

_Russell added, "And it has already been purchased."_

_It was on my mouth to impulsively say "Then he shall have to give it to someone else," when Eric, apparently realizing Russell's blunder, leaned in quickly to press another one of his firm, soothing kisses on my lips. Then in one swift movement—his body still molded against mine, trapping me against the counter—he reached down to pin the brooch at the top of my sundress. _

_Watching the two of us, Russell frowned slightly, then brightened it with a smile. "There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"_

_Before any other warring emotions could surface, he spoke lightly, "I think it's time we visited Bartlett's store."_

_Russell's eyebrows raised._

"_That's where you're taking her next? Interesting."_

_I looked questioningly at Eric._

"_It's where I got my belt. Russell's partner owns the store."_

_Now I was intrigued. "Goodbye, Russell."_

_He laughed. "Nice to meet you, Sookie. I look forward to meeting you again."_

_Eric immediately jumped in, "Russell is always a salesman."_

"_So you've done this before—pin a brooch on an unsuspecting victim?"_

_I could hear Russell's chuckling continue as we stepped outside._

"_Eric, it's too beautiful. I can't accept." _

"_Really?" He laughed. "You want me to give you something ugly? Would that make it better?"_

_Ah...there it was again-that smile that caught hold of me, made me want to see more. Play with him. Forget about the weight of the brooch tugging on the gauzy fabric of my sundress. _

"_All right," I joked back._

"_That sounds like a challenge. If I buy you something ugly, will you promise to keep my gift?"_

_Our game made no sense. It might have been the most ridiculous thing I'd heard, but the playful side of him always intrigued me. "Okay, but I get to judge. Final word is mine. And not to give you any hints or anything, but you'd better bring your A game if you're going to win this."_

_Together we made our way out of the alleyway, into the throngs of ever-increasing crowds, at such a fast clip that I practically had to trot to keep up with his long strides. Since we'd gone into the bait and tackle, the energy level had amped up a notch as the crowd anticipated the start of the fireworks. More drinks had been drunk. _

_Eric practically accosted a man dragging a souvenir cart, and then dismissed him unceremoniously when he discovered he was selling stuffed toys and balloons. He growled into my ear, "Trivial accessories." _

_He crossed the street, which had been taken over by pedestrians, to stop at another vendor, briefly considering a stars and stripes bandanna before touching a big foam hand, index finger pointing upward, with USA #1 printed across the front. I stifled a grimace. Eric shook his head. "That's pretty damn obnoxious, but I want your hands to be free."_

_I sighed dramatically. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to take off this pin. Guess it really wasn't meant for me after all." Stopping in the middle of the street, I looked down, fiddling with the clasp. It had pulled a small hole in my dress._

_Then, suddenly, I was on the ground._

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**~

**Disclaimer**: _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._

**Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!  
**I monkeyed with this after mmhs beta'd it, which means that any mistakes are L.L.'s fault.


	10. Independence Day, Part 2

**Recap of previous chapter:** Eric & Sookie go to Provincetown to celebrate Independence Day. Eric pushes Sookie to disclose personal information and then takes her to a bait-and-tackle shop, where he surprises her with a sapphire pin. She reluctantly accepts after Eric proposes he also buy her P-town's ugliest souvenir. During his search for said souvenir, Sookie is knocked to the ground.

* * *

Chapter 10: **Independence Day, Part 2**

_It all happened so fast that for a brief moment, I didn't know what hit me. The first thing I noticed was Eric, right there, hovering over me._

_And so was... Uncle Sam?...or, er...Aunt Sam? Looking up, her long legs went on forever, up to the bottoms of very short, red-and-white striped hot pants. My eyes kept traveling upward-only briefly considering how she had achieved that smooth tuck-to her blue spangled jacket and then up to her eyes, with the longest, silvery eyelashes I'd ever seen. Her crowning glory was her oversized, furry top hat in red, white, and blue._

"_Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" She reached out to help me up. _

_Eric stepped in front of her. "Are you okay?"_

"_Sure. Yeah." I brushed myself off. "What happened?"_

_Aunt Sam bent down to pick up her skateboard, its wheels flashing red, white, and blue. "It's never happened to me before, I swear. I must have hit a piece of trash or something." _

_In an instant, Eric's smirk turned into a harsh sneer. _

"_Eric?" I said in a half-questioning, half-warning tone. _

"_Give me your hat," he said simply, his words loaded with intention._

"_Oh, no, Eric." I could see where this was headed now.  
_

"_Excuse me?" Aunt Sam stammered._

"_Your hat." Eric said nothing more. He was looking at her nearly eye-to-eye, her high-heeled go-go boots bringing her practically up to his level. I could feel the quiet heat of intimidation rolling off of him. I really wanted her to tell him to fuck off and wondered whether I, myself, would be able to do it if he ever pushed me hard enough._

_Her posture slouched the slightest bit. Yeah. She was toast._

"_Um. S-s-sure. Okay." Hesitating only briefly, she pulled the hat off and handed it to Eric._

_Aunt Sam didn't need to be told to leave. She sulked back out through the crowds, carrying her skateboard, looking like some sort of dethroned monarch from an alternate universe. Immediately, I realized by not stopping Eric, I'd been complicit in his bad behavior._

_He held the hat out to me on his palms. "Ugliest souvenir in all of P-town, right here."_

_I smacked him on the shoulder. "You stole this hat, you big bully. What's gotten into you tonight?" Away from the security and comfort of home, I'd been thrown off kilter, and Eric had definitely been feeling his oats and screwing with boundaries. "You. Forfeit." I poked him on the chest, emphasizing each word.  
_

"_You're joking, right?" _

_I squinted at him, as though by narrowing my focus I could figure him out. He thought my challenging him was a joke. That's what made me snap._

_I grabbed the hat from his hands and started to work my way out into the crowd to catch up with Aunt Sam to hand it back. Eric stopped me, rolling his eyes. "Really?"_

"_Don't roll your eyes at me." I poked him again._

_He muttered something under his breath, grabbed the hat, and then strode off to catch up with Aunt Sam. I watched him pull out his wallet to hand her money before returning to me._

_He held the hat out to me once again. "I apologized for my...rudeness. And then I paid her. This now rightfully belongs to you." _

_I waited._

"_Right?"_

"_It still doesn't seem right."_

"_It was wrong of me to intimidate her."_

"_You really mean that?" Of course he didn't._

_He raised his eyebrows at me and held out his hands. "You're not going back on your agreement are you?" _

_Ah. The return challenge. "You think I don't see what game you're playing?"_

_His feigned look of innocence was one of the most ridiculous things I'd seen. I couldn't help but laugh, and before I knew it, he had leaned in to advance his cause, his peppered kisses nipping my neck and shoulders. His hands nearly encircled my waist, pulling me close against him._

_Mm-hmm. I was toast too. Aunt Sam and I should probably ditch him, find a good club, and spend the rest of the night dancing to drag queen karaoke. The problem was just how much I was hooked on the power of drawing his playfulness out. Even worse, I realized that his badass side made his lightheartedness all the more intriguing when it surfaced. _

_Toast, I'm telling you._

"_All right, all right."_

"_Now you're keeping the pin, right?"_

"_Yes, yes, of course." I clutched at it dramatically. "Now give me the damn hat." I plunked it on my head and tugged a foolish grin into place. "How do I look?"_

_His expression changed so suddenly and completely that I started to squirm inside, wondering whether there was something else awry, besides P-town's ugliest souvenir on my head. I reached down to smooth my dress and make sure everything was in place. I licked my teeth, hoping nothing unsightly was caught in there, and reached up to tuck some loose hairs behind my ears._

"_See now that proves it." _

"_What, that I look like a patriotic pimp?"_

"_You're beautiful no matter what you wear." _

_Right there, in the middle of the crowds, he pulled me close for one of his long, slow, mouth-watering kisses. _

_Oh. Yum. I wanted seconds and thirds before I was even finished with my first helping. _

_But he pulled back, raking his hands through his own hair._

"_Well, then, come on. I want to show you off." He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we started to walk. In the reflection of a glass storefront, I caught sight of myself next to this insanely infuriating and beautiful man. The brooch flashed._

"_Bartlett's store is just down the street."_

_Stepping inside, we were greeted by a crazy array of tie-dyed tapestries hanging on the walls. Otherwise, everything else was black. Leather._

_A very burly, dark-haired man, somewhere in his 50s, dressed in—no surprise here—leather pants, greeted us almost immediately. "Eric!" His unique, gravelly voice, though not loud, could be heard easily from across the store. He approached like a dear friend, quickly breaching Eric's personal space and giving him a firm hug. Eric hugged him back, then seemed to bristle somewhat as he noticed me watching him. _

"_You're brave bringing a date in here."_

_Eric disentangled himself from the hug. "Sookie, this is Bart." _

"_This is Sookie?" The way Bart emphasized 'this' made me wonder whether he and Eric had had a conversation about me. He caught Eric's eyes with a not-very-subtle look. _

_The hat weighing heavily on my head, I extended my hand, "Hello. Nice to meet you." Consciously, I made an effort not to fidget._

_Bart skipped the handshake and went right for the hug. For such a tough-looking guy, he sure was touchy-feely. Pulling back, his hands still clasping my shoulders, he gave me a visual head-to-toe scan. "Sweetie, only you could pull off this hat with such panache." Lightly touching the brooch, he added, "And I see you've been to see Russell. Just lovely. But tell me...is Eric behaving himself?"_

_I think I could like this Bartlett character. I grinned over at Eric, who was now bridging the short distance between us with two purposeful steps to put his arm around me. He spoke before I had a chance to say anything else. "I think Sookie would like to see the back of the store."_

_Bartlett's eyes narrowed. "Eric, I'm warning you. You will treat the lady with respect in my store." Linking his arms in mine, he brushed Eric's arm from my shoulder. Clearly he would be giving me a tour of his shop with his own plans in mind. He proceeded to take me around to show me all of his leather inventory-hand-crafted he proudly informed me-from belts (where I exclaimed how much I liked Eric's belt) to caps and vests and pants and skirts and coats and..._

"_It's everything you could possibly ever imagine in leather," I gushed._

_Eric snickered, which prompted Bart to glare at him. Curiosity got the better of me. "But there's more in the back?"_

_Bart sighed. "Would you like to see the back?"_

"_Sure, why not?" Though it had been fun pairing up with Bart, I was more interested in taking on Eric's challenge._

_Bart's eyebrows raised, "Some with more fragile sensibilities prefer to stay in the front of the store."_

"_It's okay. I'm game. I'd like the whole tour." Eric had linked his arm at my other side and was pulling me away, through a curtain. Bart trailed behind._

_I realized, at once, why this area was curtained off. I felt the blush rising in my cheeks almost immediately in spite of myself. Maybe it was the intense scrutiny of these two men by my side making me so self-conscious._

_Or maybe it was the riding crops. Or the bustiers and crotchless panties. Or the wrist cuffs. Or the myriad of leather restraints, graciously displayed on an assortment of mannequins in various poses. Or the...what the hell __**was**__ that?_

"_Uh," I laughed nervously, "Do you have anything back here without straps and buckles?"_

_I earned an appreciative chuckle from both of them. Eric gently pulled my chin toward him and leaned down for a kiss. Bart took that moment to excuse himself, "Sir," he spoke to a man trying on something that looked like it could have come from a basement scene in Pulp Fiction, "Sir, that adjusts in the back." _

"_So," Eric prodded, "what do you think?" He raised his eyebrows at me._

_I checked myself. I had __**thought**__ I was pretty much game for anything. I had __**thought**__ there wasn't much that could make me feel uncomfortable. But here, in this room, surrounded by all of this leather...paraphernalia, my composure was definitely rattled. _

"_Well, some of this is just downright scary," I admitted. "But I might be tempted to try something new," I teased, running a finger down the center of his chest, down to his belt buckle._

"_Hmm." He appeared to be considering something._

"_Eric Northman!" a man called from the front of the store, peering through the curtains. "How are you? Good to see you, man." _

_Eric turned to look, and then strode toward him, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back of the shoulder. "How's the house working out?" He turned back to give me a just-a-minute gesture before slipping through the curtain. I could hear them discussing some kind of home remodeling project Eric must have worked on._

_Bart, meanwhile, had thoroughly outfitted a customer in a strappy, studded get-up that fit over his head, and left him standing in front of a full-length mirror. "You let me know if you need any other help."_

_Then he turned back to me. "Sweetie, you are still blushing." He clasped my cheeks._

_Maybe it was the simple way he had unassumingly slipped through any boundaries between us. Or maybe I was just hell-bent on getting the upper hand with Eric. In any case, without thinking more about it, I pulled Bart aside, still feeling the burn in my cheeks. "Do you think you could help me pick out something? You know, something fairly tame?"_

_Bart sighed deeply and wrapped his arm around me. "Oh, my dear, what has he done to you? If you don't get to him first, I will, and it won't be tame." He gave me a squeeze. "All right, listen. I never send a customer away unhappy. My guess is that I don't have anything in your size. Know what I mean?"_

_Yeah, I think I did. None of this was my speed, really. I'd probably already pushed the outermost limits of my sexuality this summer. This would be where I'd draw the line._

"_But if you want me to look, I will help try to find something...suitable for you. You let me know."_

_I nodded, surprised to find tears welling up._

_Bart was giving me a full hug just as Eric was coming back. _

"_I see you two have gotten to know each other." Eric's demeanor was set in still-and-quiet mode, making me wonder exactly what was going on in that head of his. It had been a most strange and eventful evening. _

"_I think we're all set here, Eric."_

_Bart leaned over to kiss first one cheek, then the other. "I like this woman's spunk. There might be hope for you after all, Eric."_

_Eric's face was still quietly composed, and his arms were folded across his chest. "I think we better get going so we don't miss the fireworks."_

"_Right! Don't miss the show! Thank you for stopping by, Sookie." He winked, and then was off to help "The Gimp" unstrap himself. I confess I felt relieved to be leaving._

_Eric and I headed outside, where the mass of people was now moving in the direction of the beach to claim a spot for the fireworks. Rounding a corner, I suddenly caught sight of none other than L.L., alone, but carrying two cups._

"_Ugh!" I pulled at Eric's arm._

"_What?"_

_I tucked us both inside a doorway, hoping L.L. hadn't spotted us. _

"_L.L.'s here . I don't want to get into it with him tonight. You know, with you here and all." _

_Eric nodded. He'd been willing enough this summer to keep our relationship private._

_He grabbed my hands. "Is the coast clear?"_

_I peeked out. "I think so."_

_We headed back out into the crowd, joining everyone else in a search of a good spot in the sand. Eric seemed to know where he was going, walking briskly away from the crowds, his long legs and my flip-flops putting me at a serious disadvantage. Eventually he stopped to hoist me up for a piggy-back ride. After a few more minutes at his brisk pace, he ushered us to a quiet little private spot formed by an outcropping of rocks. Here, in the sand, he leaned back with me, pinning his body on top of mine. _

_I gasped, the weight of him digging the pin into my chest. He immediately pulled back, apologizing, and then tentatively fingering the brooch and looking at me with a questioning look._

"_It's beautiful," I assured him, though in fact I still felt awkward about accepting it. "Thank you."_

_In the darkness, I watched the birth of a smile on his face, morphing from a hesitant half-grimace to a smug smirk of satisfaction to a full-on grin, spanning from cheek to cheek. Touching the crinkles etched around his eyes, I wondered about all of the things that had made him happy in his life._

_Suddenly the sky blasted with color, intruding on our quiet moment. I moved to sit up. _

_He pushed me back down, his eyes now deadly serious. His kisses traveled downward, flitting across my breasts before lingering on my belly, where he flipped up the skirt to my dress and pulled it over his head._

"_Eric!" This would be another time to draw that line, right?_

_Though the rocks shielded us, there was nothing to stop anyone from blundering into our little space. His head popped back up with a wicked twist on his mouth._

"_Are you scared?"_

"_Anyone could walk by!"_

"_Are you scared?" he repeated, returning to his spot between my legs. I felt his grin as I mumbled something unintelligible. I couldn't have made sense even to myself if I had tried._

_I pushed down on his shoulders and spread my legs open further, consenting, even as the little imaginary danger sign in my brain flashed its blinking red warning. I felt his fingers tugging aside lace, followed by the sudden plunging of his warm tongue. I jumped, startled by the immediate intensity. Within seconds, any thoughts about anything else in this world vanished. A moan slipped out, sounding so foreign I wondered whether it had come from me. I was complete putty in his hands. Er, his mouth._

_I closed my eyes, the lights from the fireworks flashing behind my lids. Their explosions vibrated deep in my belly, heightening sensations and flinging me outward. It could have been me arching through that night sky, taking flight with the shattering, fragmenting light._

"_Mmmm..." Jolts of heat crackled from the center of me all the way up to my head and down to my toes, curling through the cool, velvet sand._

_I was lying there, still appreciating the aftershocks of Eric's whiz-bang oral talents, when suddenly, a change in the lights behind my closed eyes startled me. Opening them, I gasped._

_There stood L.L., his face harsh with shadow in the flickering light, distorted in a way that made it hard for me to see his expression. What exactly was his face saying? Anger? Loathing? Disappointment?_

_Disgust? _

_Did he think I was a whore?_

_While overhead the fireworks played, in my head, the word 'whore' echoed. My eyes traveled down the length of my body, misshapen by the lump of Eric beneath the tent of my dress._

_L.L. said nothing, then turned, walking away with great intent. The shifting sand beneath his feet betrayed him, slowing his progress. His head bobbed forward like a spastic chicken as he stumbled, disappearing into the darkness._

_It all happened in the span of a few seconds._

"_Mmmph," came a sound from between my legs._

"_Oh!" Suddenly aware of the death grip I had on Eric's head and the way I was pressing his face right into my hootchie, I released him. "Need some air?"_

_Eric emerged, his mouth traveling, the confidence of his kisses waning as he worked his way back up my body. He stopped at my mouth with a full look of uncertainty in his eyes._

"_Are you okay?" _

_I nodded, afraid that my own voice would betray me. I was okay, right? I pushed L.L. out of my mind, deciding some things were better left unsaid-both to myself and Eric-and forced a smile. I was here, on the beach, on a summer holiday, enjoying myself with Eric, abandoning worries and concerns and the rattling weight of heartaches passed._

_Yeah. I was okay. "How about a twofer?"_

"_With pleasure, lover."_

_It was his wicked grin that tossed my mind as he disappeared back underneath my skirt. It had been a most unusual night, full of boundary-pushing and testing of limits. As my feet plunged through the soft sand again, this much I knew:_

_Some lines are drawn indelibly. Others are drawn in the sand._

* * *

**A/N: **The word of the day is whiz-bang.

**~Thanks for reading!~**

**Disclaimer: **_All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._**  
**


	11. Quid Pro Quo

**Recap of previous chapter**: Sookie recalls fireworks and other explosions from her night in P-town with Eric.

**A/N:** Stay tuned for a note about my plans for the rest of this story. (See you at the bottom?)

* * *

**Quid Pro Quo**

The chatter in my head couldn't be stopped.

Memories from last summer, ones I had wound up for nearly nine months, had fully unscrolled themselves. Loosened, they had slipped free bit by bit, until finally letting go with a pattering rattle. I tried to coil them back into a tight, neat bind, but they wouldn't be contained. The images and jabbering ran in an endless loop. Relentlessly.

When I couldn't get the thoughts to stop, I took a dip in and listened. Looked for clues. I replayed that night on the porch with Eric. What had I missed? Why had he encouraged me to call Pamela Ravenscroft? And why had L.L. warned me not to? I went over and over that long, strange evening in P-town. I even pulled the brooch out, felt its cold, hard weight in my hands. _This_ was real.

So was the chatter. It was driving me crazy.

Lafayette arrived early that night with dinner from the diner. As soon as he walked through the door, I passed E.J. off to him, saying, "Tag, you're it," and headed straight for the shower.

Squirting a big blob of shampoo into my hand, a song from the musical South Pacific popped into my head. I remembered watching it with Gran one night when we'd both stayed up late looking for old movies. "I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair." I sang under my breath. It needed to be out loud, not just in my head, even if it was quiet, for only me to hear. Then, because I wasn't sure which man I should sing about most, I changed the words. "I'm gonna wash those men right outta my hair." If I could have poured shampoo inside my brain, I would have scrubbed there too, but the song worked well enough.

Lafayette banged on the door.

"E.J. giving you a hard time?" I asked, wondering why he'd cut my shower so short.

"I was getting worried about you. Forty-five minutes seemed like a long time to be in there."

Time was seriously playing tricks on me. Wondering how I hadn't run out of hot water, I came to realize I already had. The temperature was tepid at best.

"_Some days will flow like molasses, dear."_

_The grandmotherly figure, a complete stranger, had approached me on the street and patted my belly. I held still, imagining she was Gran._

"_But catch those years before they're gone. They'll slip by like quicksilver."_

_I laughed, and then stopped myself, catching her somber gaze. I'd wanted her to hug me._

I think I was starting to understand what she had meant.

"Lafayette, what day is it?"

"April 5."

"So this is only my second night home from the hospital?"

"Yep."

"I need to go to bed."

"Oh, no you don't. Not until you've had dinner."

We did just what I needed most at that moment, aside from more sleep. We ate our meals atop Gran's folding tin trays and watched mindless TV. I didn't even give Lafayette grief for choosing one of those shows where the poor fool gets picked on for her fashion blunders. Frankly, anything with a plot would have fried my brain.

At the end of the show, my new mommy emotions came flooding back. "Lafayette, I'm really lucky to have you as a friend." I blinked back weepy tears.

He rolled his eyes, cursed female hormones, and then told me I'd stayed up too late.

In spite of my exhaustion, that night I once again slept fitfully, bothered by doubts about Eric and L.L.'s warnings. In between Lafayette's waking up E.J. and me every two hours, snippets from the past scrambled my thoughts and merged together in a crazy way.

_I have… obligations...a pulled taffy kiss...Is that all?...I didn't miss anything...the curl of lips around oysters...the hard, cool glint of a sapphire sunburst..._

And then L.L.'s face would appear, either lit up from the glow of fireworks, or at other times, freakish and splotchy, like that day he'd applied his sunscreen unevenly and fell asleep facing the sun on a blazing summer day.

In the end, it all came back to that day after I had said goodbye to Eric...

* * *

_I'd gone out to pick rose hips on the bank leading down to the beach. Gran would have said it was too early, but not knowing what else to do with myself, I decided to make rose hip jam.  
_

_I sliced open the colorful rose hips, in shades of orange-red-pink, and painstakingly scraped away all the furry seeds from inside. Next, as Gran had shown me, I cooked the fruit down with water, sugar, and some green apple to thicken it. It cooked and bubbled and boiled while I stirred and waited. Then it cooked and bubbled and boiled some more. Time and again, I dipped a wooden spoon into the pot, pulled it out, and drew a line through it with my finger, watching for it to gel. _

_It never did. _

_Eventually, the heat from the kitchen and the sour smell wafting up from the pot started to make me feel woozy. I turned down the flame and escaped outside to the front walkway. Here, the massive, electric blue blooms of Gran's hydrangea bushes tumbled and spilled in a playful, clown-like way, teasing me. On a whim, I walked toward L.L.'s house, wondering whether he had an another apple I could use. Or maybe I just wanted to be near someone. In any case, I made it all the way over to the flower garden at the side of his house when a strong ocean breeze wafted the smell of rotten fish in my direction._

_Can you guess what that smell does to a pregnant woman? Right. _

_I threw up, right into L.L.'s garden, the one he'd carefully designed and grown for its colors. One afternoon, he'd proudly shown me the beautiful green Bells of Ireland mixing with the blue Platycodons and Bachelor's Buttons and the pale yellow petunias and yarrow. Here is where I bent over and spilled my guts._

_I caught my breath, finally, and smelled a hint of something pleasant…what was it…mint? Mint! Crawling on all fours, I scuttled around sniffing out the mint. L.L. had put it in for its color, but when it started to spread invasively, he tried to get rid of it without luck. Now, finding the patch, I took a big old whiff and considered myself quite lucky. I have no idea why it helped. It just did, which was good enough for me. So I lay down—right there in the mint—rolling around like a cat in a patch of catnip. Warm in the sun. I don't think too much time passed before I fell asleep like some drunken garden fairy._

_L.L. found me about an hour later._

"_Sookie!" He shook my shoulder, alarm sounding in his voice. "Sookie!"_

_Bolting upright, disoriented, I immediately blurted out a confession, "I threw up in your Alchemilla!"_

"_It's okay. They're not in bloom now."_

"_I know how much you hate this mint, but it smelled so good I just had to rest here." I realized how crazy I sounded even as the words were coming out of my mouth._

_He had kneeled down in front of me, absentmindedly plucking out a few stray weeds while I rubbed my eyes, still waking up._

"_Oh, my gosh! The jam!"_

"_The jam?"_

"_Yes, the jam! I came over here to see if you had an apple because it wasn't thickening."_

"_It's too early for rose hip jam!"_

_I had already stood up and was starting to sprint back to my house. "It's still on the stove!"_

_He ran behind me, catching up by the time we reached the house. Luckily, because I had turned the heat on low, the only thing damaged was my pot, its bottom ruined with a thick coat of black crust. Stirring it, the acrid smell of burned sugar overwhelmed me, and before I knew what was happening, I heaved again right there in the kitchen, all over the floor and L.L.'s Topsiders. _

_Without saying a word, he grabbed a towel, handed it to me, and led me over to a kitchen stool before stooping down to clean up my mess. Then he methodically wiped off my cutting board, loaded up my dishwasher, tossed all of the discarded seeds and stems into the compost, and put away my sugar canister. Finally, he sat down next to me._

"_Did I ever tell you about the first time I made rose hip jam?"_

_I shook my head no._

"_I didn't bother to take out the hairy seeds."_

_I winced, remembering Gran's warnings. "Is that true?" I asked. I'd thought it was an old wives' tale. "Itchy bottom syndrome?" _

_He nodded somberly as I laughed quietly._

"_You're pregnant, aren't you?"_

_There it was. Right out in the open. There was no use denying it. I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks still puffed by a smile. Just like that, quid pro quo, we'd swapped personal anatomical stories—his itchy bottom for my pregnant womb. He hugged me close._

"_It'll be all right. You made a mistake, but I'm here for you now__." _

_The next day, there was a new pan on my doorstep—not a fancy one like I knew L.L. could afford, but the kind Gran used, black enamel with white freckles. _

* * *

I woke up feeling vulnerable and exposed and even more confused about what to do and who to trust. Laf stayed a little extra time with me in the morning, cooked me breakfast, and teased me that my color didn't look right.

I convinced him I was fine, though he only agreed to leave once he knew the visiting nurse would be stopping by for E.J.'s heel stick, and that Sam would be coming early for the night to help Amelia move in.

To be brutally honest, E.J. exhausted me so much that sometimes I just wanted to put him back. And yet he thrilled me all the same. I'd eat him up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I could. I loved looking at the way his whole body folded up as though he were still inside of me. Every now and then, he'd startle, flailing his arms and legs out wide, before refolding himself, just the way he was. He reminded me of one of those little party favor blowers that unroll and then curl back up.

I spoke with Octavia, and after getting a good first impression, jotted down a few references and set up a time for her to come to the house. Around noon, the visiting nurse came by to weigh E.J. and draw blood. She said his skin tone looked good and that he was gaining weight nicely, but that we'd have to wait for the official bilirubin count before we could try to stretch out his feedings.

Sam and Amelia showed up late in the afternoon. Sam took one look at me and said, "Sookie, you don't look so good."

"I'm so glad everyone feels comfortable enough around me to basically tell me I look like shit."

"You don't look like shit. You just look…tired."

"The visiting nurse was just here today."

It had only been for E.J.'s jaundice check, but that seemed to settle everyone enough to put the focus on unloading Sam's truck full of Amelia's belongings.

"Are you hungry?" Sam asked when they were finished. It took me a minute to think about it. Laf's breakfast had been the last food I remembered eating. Sometimes, frankly, I was too tired to eat or care about it. "Sure."

We settled around the kitchen table while Sam reheated some clam chowder and unpacked some sandwiches. With Sam and Amelia there, my kitchen took on a familial, albeit untraditional kind of atmosphere, one I was happy I could share with E.J.. I took a big bite of my sandwich and chewed fast, knowing how my little chowhound had the uncanny habit of waking up and wanting a piece of the action as soon as I tried to eat anything.

"Where does your property end?" Amelia asked, pointing out toward the pond.

Sam jumped in to answer. "Back by that tree line on the other side of the pond..."

* * *

_That morning, I woke up with his feet next to my face. Disoriented, it took me a moment to remember how we'd ended up this way. I crawled back up to the top of the bed to curl against his body. _

_The day was warming, its tendril-like strands of heat just barely grasping._

"_Where did you park your car?"_

"_Hmm?" He kissed the top of my head._

"_Your car." Though normally he drove his Jeep to navigate the dunes, he'd had to make a trip into Boston and would be returning in another day, so he'd brought his Corvette for a change. _

"_In the driveway."_

"_On the side of the house facing L.L.'s house?"_

"_That's where your driveway is, right?"_

_I sighed heavily, wondering what kind of drama his red Corvette parked overnight in my driveway would bring. L.L. normally kept to himself, but parking a red Corvette outside my house was like waving a red cape at him._

_Sure enough, at 9 am, L.L. came knocking on my door. Wrapping myself up in a robe, I opened the door to find him standing there in his swim trunks and rash guard with stripes of zinc oxide down his nose and across his cheeks._

_L.L.'s eyes scanned over me before glancing into my house. "Oh, I thought you'd be up by now." Clearly, he was looking for any other sign of life._

"_I am," I said cheerfully. Eric had seen to that._

"_May I borrow one of your flotation devices?"_

"_My what?"_

"_One of your flotation devices. I want to go out on the pond."_

"_Like one of my rafts?"_

_He nodded. _

"_L.L., you know where I keep them, and you know I said you could borrow them any time. Go help yourself."_

"_Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you if you have company."_

"_It's no problem," I said in my most upbeat voice and then moved to close the door._

_I didn't know whether L.L. would actually get in the water. I knew he preferred fresh water over the ocean, but most of all, he liked dry land, which made me really wonder why he'd bought a house on the ocean. But sure enough, he followed through with his plan. From the back upstairs bedroom, I watched him make his way down to the pond with one of my inflatable rafts in one hand and a book in the other. _

_I returned to the front bedroom, where Eric was patting the empty spot next to him. "Come back to bed."_

"_I told you we were asking for trouble."_

"_William?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_What's he doing?"_

"_He asked to borrow one of my rafts for the pond."_

_Eric snorted. _

"_Mark my words. That won't be the end of it." I'm sure he wanted to know who was hanging out the bottom of my dress on Independence Day._

"_Lover, come back to bed."_

_I climbed up to straddle his hips and looked down to admire his blond hair, spread across the pillow._

_He pulled my robe over my thighs and smoothed it. Then, seemingly out of the blue, he said, "You don't have a Boston accent."_

"_Neither do you."_

"_But I didn't grow up around here."_

"_Right, but you grew up in the south," I teased, "so where's your sexy southern drawl?"_

"_Philadelphia is not the south!"_

"_Anything below New England is southern." I shifted my hips to grind against him._

_He held still._

_I started to bend down to nip at his earlobe, but got caught under his discerning gaze, stalling me in place for a moment. Straightening up, I considered carefully. Since that night in the bar in P-town, Eric had backed off, not pressing hard. Whether he would push this morning, I could only guess. But if I took charge of the conversation now, I could dole out the details on my own terms. My choice._

_He stirred, his hands once again smoothing my robe over my thighs. I liked the weight of them there, holding secure, but not binding. He swallowed and took a breath, as if he were about to speak, but the words came out of my mouth instead._

"_I think I read somewhere that you pick up your accent from your friends." _

_I barely had a peer group that I could call my own. But this news was too raw and personal and verged on other stuff I didn't want to touch. So I continued.  
_

"_Out in western Massachusetts, where I spent my early childhood, not as many people have the Boston accent. I didn't move here until I was seven, after my parents were killed in a car accident."_

_I half expected him to pull me down for one of his placating kisses, but what he said next would surprise me._

"_My parents died when I was young too."_

_I felt myself stiffen, the cadence of my heart quickening in its telltale way. Without seeming indifferent, I didn't want to say anything to encourage any big revelations. That badass side of Eric couldn't have come out of nowhere, and I'd figured a lot of it was better left unsaid if we were in this for a summer fling. It seemed to have suited him just fine. Until now. I looked to his face for a clue, frustratingly silent, wiped clean of any betraying emotion._

_In the fraction of a second that it took me to respond, Eric's fingers started traveling beneath my robe, stroking inside my thighs. I relaxed again. _

_His point had already been made. _

_He'd offered up his tidbit, laid it out in front of me, and had ducked back. That itself was the point. A peace offering of sorts. A show of good faith. Now he was ready to play. We were like two little kids behind a garden shed, flashing our private parts to each other._

_I leaned down to kiss him, and then whispered in his ear, "If you show me yours, I'll show you mine."_

_He was on me in a flash, flipping me over and growling into my neck._

_Something that sounded like a high-pitched girly noise came out of me. Immediately, I clamped my hands over my mouth._

_He threw his head back, his booming laughter rumbling the bed. "Was that a squeal?"_

"_Well, what the hell was that? A roar?"_

"_I wanna hear it again." He came back for my neck._

"_No way. I'm not a squealer."_

"_Aaaah! Aaaah!" _

_The shouts sounded from the back of the house, bolting the two of us immediately upright like someone had dumped a bucket of the frothing winter sea on us._

"_What the…?" _

_I grabbed my robe and ran toward the back bedroom. Looking out the window, I saw L.L. flapping his arms wildly, ripping off his goggles and then laboring to lift his wet rash guard over his head. At the same time, he was trying to wade out of the pond, his legs lifting high up out of the water and bounding forward. His shirt over his head, he stumbled, falling flat on his chest as he worked to disentangle his arms from his shirt and push himself upward again._

_Obviously he hadn't drowned or broken any limbs, so my concern for him was quelled._

"_What's he doing?" Eric was now next to me._

"_I'll go check on him. You wait here." I tied my robe around me._

_By the time I got down to the pond, L.L. had managed to fully remove his rash guard. Covered in streaks of mud, his arms were spastically trying to swipe across his back._

"_What's wrong, L.L.?"_

"_Leeches! God, Sookie, I'm covered in leeches. I can't reach 'em!" He wasn't getting any calmer, only worse._

"_Calm down. Let me look. You're covered in mud."_

_Even with all of the mud, it didn't take me long to find the first one. "Holy shit, L.L.!" I couldn't help myself. It was the biggest freaking leech I had seen in my whole life. "It's huge!"_

_He leaped again, flapping his arms. "Is it off? Am I bleeding?"_

_I gathered myself and shifted into fix-it gear. "Shhh. All right now. Hold still." I peeled the first bloodsucker off of him. It was a good six inches in length. L.L.'s back was toward the house, giving me an opportunity to dangle the leech into the air, holding it up so Eric could see it from the window. No one else but L.L. would believe how big it was. I turned back to L.L. and swiped at the thin trickle of blood running down his back. I found another one. And then a third. I tossed them back into the pond._

"_Check your legs under your swim trunks and under your waistband."_

_He pulled at the front of his waistband and then pointed his backside at me._

_I shrugged at Eric, still watching from the window, and then pulled at the back of L.L.'s trunks. Luckily there was only one more critter under there, at the top of his left ass cheek._

"_Okay. I think you're good to go."_

"_You didn't tell me there were leeches in there!"_

"_I had no idea. You know I like the ocean. Gran taught me how to swim in the pond, but that was twenty years ago." _

_He calmed down. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault." Then he finally looked at me. "You're still in your robe," he said, noticing it for the second time that day. "I'm sorry I got it muddy."_

"_It's okay. Go take a shower now. You'll feel better."_

"_Thanks again."_

_We went our separate ways toward our respective houses. By the time I got back up to Eric, I was practically bursting. _

"_Oh my god, Eric. I've never seen leeches that big in my entire life. And they were green. With orange dots. Really hideous." We both doubled over in laughter. _

_I squirmed and wriggled my shoulders to escape my muddy robe as he pushed me up against the wall in the hallway. "You were brave handling those bloodsuckers!" He kissed me dramatically, as though I were a long-lost warrior returned from battle._

"_Come on." I prodded. "It's time for some mind-blowing shower sex."_

* * *

"Sookie?"

"Wha?" I realized they were all looking at me.

"Amelia was wondering whether you ever swim in there."

"Ah, no," I chuckled. "I wouldn't recommend it."

E.J. started to fuss. Looking down at him, he suddenly seemed miles away.

Amelia offered, "May I hand him to you?"

"Thanks. By the way, I want you to know I don't expect you to handle any childcare responsibilities as my roommate."

"That's great, but I hope you'll share him with me." She scooped him out of his carrier, lingering for a moment before handing him to me. I grabbed the sling off the back of my chair.

"I'm heading over to the 'Smaht Maht' tonight," Amelia joked. The Smart Mart was our local big box kind of store that everyone, whether he had an accent or not, called the 'Smaht Maht' just because it was too hard to resist. "Anyone need anything?"

I glanced over at Sam, who was still studiously avoiding looking in my direction. "Yeah. Could you get me a piece of paper? I'll write a few things down, if you don't mind." I jotted her a note, not wanting to embarrass Sam with my female needs.

She grabbed the paper from me. "Five?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Get whatever's on sale. I'm stocking up."

She looked a bit confused, but then dropped the matter. As soon as Amelia was gone, Sam started in with me. "Sookie—really—are you okay with everything?"

I rubbed my forehead. "I'm really tired and confused right now, Sam. Just when I think I have everything figured out, something changes or I remember something else and I start to question myself. Nothing seems to be making sense anymore."

He reached across to clasp my hand, looking me in the eye intently, as though he were grappling for my full attention.

"You've been a good friend to me. I want you to know I'll help you with anything you need."

Quid pro quo.

What I really needed, I couldn't get right now. I'd given home to my memories of last summer, stored them away for safekeeping, but ultimately, in exchange, they weren't offering the answers I was seeking. The truth could not be wrangled from them, no matter how hard I looked.

"How about you help E.J. and me up to bed?"

Tomorrow would be a new day with new possibilities. I would sleep and clear away the foggy murk addling my thoughts.

* * *

**~Thanks for reading!~**

**A/N:** It's Patriots' Day here in New England, and since I'm not running the Boston marathon this year, lol, I have plenty of time to post this chapter and update you on some story housekeeping stuff.

So here's the scoop on the flashbacks. To varying degrees, this story has always been about Sookie's "unpacking" her memories from last summer. She does it bit by bit in the beginning, but now her thoughts & memories are starting to flood her. Things are heating up—she's working things out w/ E.J. & all of her new mother feelings, her hormones are plummeting post partum, she's sleep-deprived, physically she's not up to snuff, and she's starting to question what was up w/ Eric. She's in a vulnerable spot. (It's a little bit like when she's tired or otherwise taxed in the books and she has a harder time controlling her telepathy.)

I promise those are real memories she's recalling. (I promise Sookie won't wake up in a Vermont Inn with Bob Newhart.) I'm going to condense and collapse a few upcoming chapters to keep things moving along. Sookie will get herself more out of her head and into action mode next chapter. Amelia will be there with a steaming mug of coffee, almost as energizing as vamp blood without the nasty side effects.

~Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose.~

**Disclaimer:** _All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England._


	12. Messages

**A/N**: Old Home Week is a town-wide homecoming celebration.

* * *

Chapter 12: **Messages**

Sam left early the next morning to get back to the diner for the breakfast crowd. He'd thrown a load of wet laundry into the dryer and started another load in the washer before he left. Not too much later, Amelia showed up in the kitchen to get her day started too. She'd taken the day off to get herself settled.

After stepping outside to grab the paper, Amelia returned to the kitchen, practically breathless. "What a morning! Have I told you lately how lucky I am to be living on the ocean?"

I enjoyed the way her enthusiasm glommed me, making me feel it too. I just couldn't work up the energy to say it so passionately. "It never grows old."

"Hearing those waves last night made me sleep like a baby."

I would never think of that expression the same way again, but who was I to burst her bubble?

Amelia, still looking invigorated, had started rummaging through the cupboard I had cleared for her and pulled out a new package of coffee. "Want some?"

Coffee. I wanted nothing more than to harness the warm liquid energy in my hands. I would suck it down and lick every last drop out of the bottom of the mug. _Could I nurse and have caffeine?_ The thought was squashed without a second thought.

"I would pay you a month's rent to make me a cup of coffee, Amelia." Just the anticipation put a new spring in my step. Simply the hissing sound of the vacuum pack releasing gave me another jolt. I watched her scoop big heaping spoonfuls of the stuff into the coffee maker. My nose twitched.

"Don't worry. I'm not holding back," she laughed.

Energized, I started poking around in my pantry, looking for something to fix that would be quick and wouldn't entail much clean up. I had managed to put E.J. down in his bouncy seat, but there was no telling when he'd wake up. Most likely, it would be as soon as I had that steaming mug of goodness in my hands. I settled on toast and jam and then sat at the table with Amelia to glance through the Globe while we waited for the pot to brew.

"Hey, look at this!" Amelia was holding up the People and Places section of the paper.

"Pamela Ravenscroft! My dad mentioned that he left a message for you about her. Did you get it?"

I nodded, chewing.

"Look, here's her picture." She folded the paper back and pushed it over to me.

"Pamela Ravenscroft," I read. "Chief Building Commissioner of the Cape Cod Historic Preservation Society, standing next to George Cabot, District 10 State Representative at the Cape Wind Energy silent auction. Now that's a mouthful."

Inwardly, I scoffed. The photos at these events were always the same—a semi-circle of dressed-up people mugging for the camera, wine glasses in hand. They'd gamely posed, jockeying for a position with someone important (and not controversial) and hoping their photo would be selected for publication. It was all about advancing their own organizations or whatever cause was on their list.

So there was Pamela, posing with a state rep. I looked again. Her hair was pulled back softly off her face, looking styled, but not overdone. She was elegantly dressed in a strapless, sparkly gown with a shawl draped across her shoulders. She was quite beautiful in a girlish kind of way, with smooth, rounded cheeks.

_And she looked familiar._

"Amelia," I mused out loud. "I know I've seen this woman before."

"I wouldn't be surprised. She's fairly well-known and connected around here. Not always liked. She can ruffle peoples' feathers. You definitely don't want to get on her bad side."

I looked again. "Oh, this is going to drive me nuts. Where have I seen her?"

"That's the problem with working at the diner. Nearly everyone looks like someone we've seen before, probably because at one time or another, we _have_ seen them."

I pictured myself in Merlotte's which seemed like ages ago, scanning the tables for customers, trying to remember anything unusual or someone who might have stood out from the regular crowd. I was drawing a big blank.

"No, I don't think it's the diner."

"Someone from school?"

I paused, considering teachers, other students, librarians… "No…"

"One of the social service agencies in the area?"

_Elder Services? Department of Children and Family? Department of Mental Health? _

"No…" I hesitated.

"DAR?"

I was vaguely familiar with the women of the Daughters of the American Revolution. There were Maxine and Jane, of course. They'd been kind of snippy with Gran because sometimes her independent contributions to the community outshone their own. Gran hadn't acted competitively, but they had reacted that way.

"No, she's not a member of DAR, at least not that I know of. Last time I went to anything DAR-related was last summer when they were one of the sponsors of the town's Old Home Week celebration, when..."

The sound of the dryer buzzer going off startled me and jogged my memory at the same time.

"Wait a minute!"

* * *

_We were waiting for Maxine to start the ceremony. Sitting there on stage, next to Councillor Davis, on that rainy, muggy day in July, I felt the crowd start to stir, impatient. I squirmed too, unusually bothered by the heat. I knew the little bit of makeup I had patted on my face had probably smeared under the buzzing, scrutinizing, shine of the spotlights. _

_I didn't want to be there. I hated any of these kinds of public appearances. Gran had handled them with aplomb in her own sweet, friendly, well-mannered, but down-to-earth way. She was the kind of person who could come off as unpolished, but charming all at once. I wasn't Gran. I just wanted to go about doing my work on the sidelines, but as Gran had pointed out, sometimes you have to put yourself out there to do the work you really want to do. "Sometimes you have to play the game," she'd coached me. "You don't have to like the rules to follow them."_

_I was in high demand soon after Gran had died. The library, the school, the police and fire departments, the YMCA, every blessed civic group—the Elks, the Moose, the Sons of Italy, the Viking Club (I'm not making that one up)—all of them wanted me to come to their events so they could recognize her contributions to their organizations. Gran hadn't discriminated, cheerfully sharing the money she had acquired upon the death of her friend. More than that, she'd rolled up her sleeves and pitched in to help whenever she could. She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty._

"_I scrimped and saved all of my life, Sookie," she'd told me. "I've learned to make do and I don't need fancy. I have everything I could possibly need. And now that I'm sure you and Jason will be taken care of, I'm going to enjoy paying it forward." _

_Anyway, even after her death, it had been popular to be associated with her. Maybe they were hoping for more money, but once it was gone, it was gone. The Stackhouse family was no endless coffer of wealth. No Boston Brahmin. _

"_What's Maxine up to now?" Councillor Davis complained, ending a cell phone call. "The world does not revolve around that woman." He tucked the phone into its holder, clipped to his belt, and then from his breast pocket pulled out a bundle of used empty envelopes, all of which had been neatly opened with a letter opener and then bound together with a rubber band. On the backs of one of those envelopes, he jotted a note before stuffing the whole wad back into his pocket. I watched this entire operation with great interest, thinking about all of the energy that had gone into taking that single note. "Let's get this show on the road."  
_

_We couldn't start the ceremony until Maxine, representing DAR as a gold sponsor, was on stage. Feeling a little woozy under the hot lights, I offered to go look for her. Backstage, I ran into Sam, who was bringing in some food for the event._

"_Hey, Sookie. Aren't you supposed to be in the ceremony?" He turned back to kick the wooden wedge that was propping the door open._

_Hearing a faint buzzing noise, I rubbed my head. "Yeah, but we're waiting for Maxine. Have you seen her?"_

"_Nope. Sorry. Just got here. I'll let her know if I see her. Do you know where I should set up this food?"_

"_Check out in the lobby at the sign-in table. They should be able to help you." _

_With no clue where I was going, I started ducking around corners and curtains and doors until I felt fairly lost. These old buildings were always strange. Originally divided into small rooms, they were often opened up into larger rooms, only to be partitioned again into small rooms. The result was often a crazy, mishmash of hallways and rooms. "Remuddling," Eric would have called it. _

_How hard could this be? Annoyed that something seemingly so simple had become so complicated, I started following an odd buzzing noise. Or was that noise just in my head? I rubbed my forehead again, feeling like I had entered some kind of surreal other world. I half expected to bump right into the ghost of Gran._

_I called out, "Maxine? Maxine, where are you?" The sound of my own voice kept me grounded._

"_Is that you, Sookie?" _

_I turned to see Patty O'Riordan, from the Delanna Center for Families._

"_How long has it been? Ten years?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "I saw your name in the program book and immediately thought of our first concert fundraiser, the one your Gran helped organize."_

_Time to patch it together. I smiled brightly. "That was a winner, wasn't it?" _

"_You have no idea. Adele led us in all kinds of new fundraising directions, and we're still growing. Did you hear we've been able to hire that full-time child abuse specialist?" _

"_That's wonderful news. Gran would have been happy too." _

"_She's still with us, dear."_

"_She sure is. Listen, Patty, I'm sorry I can't chat. I need to find Maxine Fortenberry yesterday. Have you seen her?"_

"_I saw her with Jane Bodehouse not too long ago. They were heading that way." She pointed down the hall._

"_Okay, thanks. I'll see you at the reception later?"_

"_Yes, good! I look forward to catching up with you." She patted my shoulder as she headed off in the opposite direction._

_I walked down the hallway, hearing that damn buzzing noise again. The hallway opened into a storage room of sorts, full of boxes and crates and cabinets. I started to turn back and wouldn't have even stepped foot in there had I not heard the moan. That's when I noticed the feet sticking out from behind the boxes. Gasping, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled around the corner to see if I could help. _

_A quick glance told me my assistance was not needed. _

_I ducked back, unnoticed. Strangely enough, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Really? Pantyhose?" I didn't think anyone wore them anymore. Even Gran had chucked them. I crept away._

_But enough with that. Maybe you can guess what I saw behind those crates. Maybe you would think it was an interesting piece of gossip that you would share with your friends. Maybe you would laugh about it. Or maybe it would titillate you. Or maybe you would stuff your hands over your ears and screw your eyes closed. Whatever the case, I don't tell secrets. So that's all I'm saying. _

_I walked back down the hallway a ways before calling out again loudly, "Maxine! Councillor Davis is threatening to start without you. Come quick!" _

_I wound my way back out onto the stage, somehow, and wiped clammy sweat from my forehead, still wondering why the summer heat I normally enjoyed was bothering me like this. I bumped right into Sam. _

"_Did you find her?"_

"_I think she's coming."_

"_Hey, are you all right? You look a little pale." His hand lightly grazed the bottom of my chin._

"_Yeah, yeah." Annoyed, I brushed him away, attempting to head out toward the stage area to give word that Maxine was on her way. Somehow I ended up exiting into the side of the main lobby area._

_I would have blundered straight through the crowd if I hadn't noticed a tall figure hovering over the rest of them. I'd spot him anywhere. _

_Eric._

_I hadn't told Eric I'd be here today, knowing that he had his own business to attend to. What was he doing here? Was this __**his **__business? _

_He was talking to a pretty woman. She was dressed from head to toe in clothes that looked like they came from Talbot's. Once Gran had tried to treat me to a special outfit from there, but it just hadn't been my style. This woman looked classic. Her straight, blond glossy hair was pulled back in a headband. She wore a string of pearls and a sleeveless linen dress that actually looked pressed. _

_Eric had greeted her with a peck on each cheek, the kind of kiss you might give to a dear friend, but then their conversation seemed to quickly turn more businesslike. Eric's face showed little expression—no surprise there—so I looked to the woman for a clue. She shook her head a few times and shrugged her shoulders. The conversation seemed to be going in fits and stops, with long pauses. Several times, Eric looked off to the side, right in my direction, straight through me. After a few minutes, they parted with a hug. He left out the front door, while she entered into the auditorium._

_I found my way backstage to check on Maxine when I nearly ran smack into her hulking body. That helmet hair of hers had barely dented. _

"_Oh! Maxine! Better hurry!"_

"_What's all the fuss about?" she snapped. "Councillor Davis can just cool his heels."_

_I bit my tongue. Hard. _

_I peeked around the curtains out into the crowd. There she was—whoever she was—sitting about halfway back, presumably alone. Who was she? _

_Turning, I had the urge to swat at the persistent noise still buzzing my head. It had gotten louder. I started to stumble, just as firm hands gripped my shoulders._

"_Sookie, sit down," Sam was instructing me, guiding me into a chair and pushing my head between my knees. I felt the brush of a bar towel fanning my face._

_...And then I was in the side yard, where Gran's clothesline swagged between two trees, helping her fold white sheets, glaring with life in the sun. A sudden whipping breeze off the ocean snapped one of them right out of my hands. It billowed and flapped and twisted across the yard before finally landing right in Gran's garden. Startled and uncertain how to react, I looked to her, but before I could find her face, her laughter clued me. She grabbed a sheet, waited for a stiff wind, and did the same thing. "Let go!" By the time we were finished, the whole lawn was strewn with linens. And then we simply piled them up and took them inside in big shapeless bales. Jumbled heaps of sheets. I helped her put them straight back on the beds. I might have slept in grass that night..._

"_Sookie, what's the matter?"_

* * *

"Sookie! Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"A ghost? No."

She looked at me quizzically. "Did you figure it out? Where you've seen her?"

"At the Old Home Week last summer." I paused, wrapping my hands around my warm coffee mug for comfort, the implications of this new knowledge settling in. I'd identified someone in Eric's life who seemed to know him well and who could very well know his whereabouts right now. And I had her contact information.

"She knows my fr...architect." I rolled my eyes at myself. The weight of this charade was taking up too much of my energy. "She knows my friend."

Amelia was silent for a moment.

"So what are you going to do?"

For all of the reasons that I might consider calling or not calling, only one popped into my mind. And there it wedged itself.

I wanted to know the connection between Eric and Pam. Curiosity had gotten the best of me.

And that's when I knew what I would do.

"I'm going to call her right now." There was no sense in mulling over my decision and wasting any more of my energy. It was time to give myself a little snap-out-of-it therapy. The coffee hadn't hurt, either. Ditto Amelia.

I shuffled through some scraps of paper on the counter, quickly finding the pad on which I had written Pam's number. And then before I started doubting myself, I dialed.

A woman's voice answered on the first ring. "Cape Cod Historic Preservation Society, Ginger speaking."

"Hello, may I speak to Pamela Ravenscroft?"

"One moment please."

"Pam speaking."

_Ah-oh. I hadn't actually planned on what I was going to say. _

"Uh…hello…I'm calling for some information about an architect I believe you might know. I'm trying to get in touch with him.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Sookie Stackhouse."

"Sookie…" she paused for the briefest of moments. "You're Eric's little friend, aren't you?" Yep. Amelia had gotten her right.

I swallowed hard. E.J. took that unfortunate moment to let out a wail. Cringing, I reached out a foot to rock his bouncy seat, which calmed him for the moment.

"Is that a baby?"

"Oh, it's just the TV." I knew he'd be crying to be fed again soon and wondered whether I'd be able to manage the phone and my nursing bra and a baby at the same time.

"So, you're looking for Eric?"

"Yes. Eric Northman."

"And you don't have his number?"

"No. Well, yes…I mean, I did have his number, but it's changed."

"Yes it has. He didn't give you his new contact information?"

"No. We've been out of touch for...a few months."

"You work at Merlotte's Diner in North Dormer, right?"

"Right." I doubt I was able to keep the surprise out of my voice. She wasn't pretending she didn't know about me.

"I'm heading that way this afternoon. I can stop by around 2."

"Today? At 2?" I was working double time now to keep my voice steady. There was no way I was meeting her at Merlotte's. Amelia, meanwhile, was nodding her head vigorously while pantomiming driving.

I took a deep breath and pushed back. "I'm not working there today. Could you give me his number over the phone?"

"No. We have more to discuss."

_More?_ If I could have reached through the phone lines to smack her across the face, I just might have done it at that moment. Nobody tells me what I'm talking about. I forced a smile into my voice, hoping it would cancel out the vitriol. "Is there somewhere else we could meet? I could stop by your office." I hated the idea of going to her, but I had no other option.

I heard her clicking on her keyboard.

"Okay. Come by at noon."

"Noon?" _Even earlier? _Amelia was still nodding her head vigorously.

"I don't have any other time today and I'm heading out of town tomorrow for a week-long convention. Do you want to meet or not?"

"Okay. Noon. Where exactly are you?"

"Main St. in Clareham, right across from the Dunkin' Donuts." Inwardly, I snickered. It was a long-standing joke between Tara and me that nearly any business could be described in relation to a Dunkin' Donuts, so numerous were their locations. She sounded like a Starbuck's kind of gal, and I wondered what her reaction would be if I showed up with an iced caramel swirl latte and a chocolate frosted. "We share an office space with Clareham Community Action Programs."

"Oh, I know where the C-CAP building is," I blurted out. "Thank you."

I started to say, "I'll see you at noon," but she had already hung up.

"Cripes, Amelia. How am I going to get ready to go there? I'm not exactly in the best of conditions."

She hesitated. "You do want to do this, right? I mean, are you well enough to go?"

I nodded. Hell yes. The caffeine was cruising through my veins.

"How about a shower? And I'll help you pick out some clothes."

I started to waver, realizing the full scope of my problem now. Nearly six days after giving birth, I still looked pregnant, only doughy now too. And I was pale, with darkness circling my eyes like I had just been dealt a double whammy. _And_ I still waddled in pain. Oh, and did I mention that my girls had acquired their own zip codes? _And _they leaked anytime I even _thought_ about E.J.. Hoo boy.

Amelia must have seen the inner workings of my mind. "Come on." She helped pull me off the kitchen chair. "I'll watch E.J. while you take a shower and see what I can find for you to wear. Between the two of us, there must be something."

"Let me feed him first."

"No. You go ahead and take your shower. I'll keep him calm if he wakes up. That way you can tank him up right before we leave."

I took a quick shower and met Amelia in my bedroom. She had managed to find a stretchy pair of black yoga pants whose elastic wasn't shot to hell. I could make them work if I pushed them under my pooch and covered all of the extra offending flesh with a maternity top. Then we covered up everything with a nice sweater coat from Amelia's collection and added a scarf with a red print.

"There!" she said, pulling me over to the mirror.

I took one look and scrambled to prop myself up inside.

She leaned over to give me a hug. "Whatever you want to do, I'll help you however I can."

I felt really lucky to have her there at that moment. "I need to go through with this today. She's going out of town for a week, and I can't stand the idea of sitting around and waiting."

"All right then. Let me know when you and E.J. are ready. I'll get a diaper bag packed."

"Oh, right." Flustered, I had forgotten.

"Let's throw your stroller in the trunk too, and I'll take him for a walk while you're having your meeting."

I appreciated Amelia's being on the ball, but I was starting to feel inept. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

With all of the diaper and clothing changes, packing of gear and supplies, and feeding requirements, it was amazing we got out the door in time to get to Clareham by noon. Then we hit another snafu trying to get the damn stroller collapsed.

Finally easing myself into the car, I felt like I needed to give Amelia a victory high five. She must have felt the same way, because after getting herself buckled in, she paused for a moment and looked over at me, laughing and letting out a "Whew!" before heading out my driveway.

The Cape Code Historic Preservation Society was located in a drab brown government-y kind of building, easily missed as it was pressed right between two other equally drab brown buildings. Main St. of Clareham clearly didn't have the same vibrancy as North Dormer. Amelia and E.J. headed down the sidewalk while I stepped into the small mint green lobby and read the kiosk. Pamela was on the second floor.

I opted for the elevator.

Stepping inside the office, I was greeted by more mint green walls, a color I'd seen so many times in these kinds of settings that it could probably be described as non-profit green. _Heh._ This place had recently been spruced up a bit, or so I gathered by the smell of new industrial-grade carpet, which had probably taken a big chunk out of their budget for the year. There were the standard fake silk plants scattered about the reception area, along with a few photographs, presumably of some of their past events. Two vinyl-covered chairs along with a table with magazines lined the wall adjacent the entryway.

All-in-all, the only remarkable thing about this place was how unremarkable it was. I'd been in places like this countless times.

The heavily-accented voice of Ginger, the same woman who had answered the phone earlier in the day, greeted me. Ginger's long, strawberry-blond hair had been hairsprayed so much it fell in rope-like chunks down her back. She was standing in front of a whole wall of divided slots, each one presumably holding its own special form. Yep. Typical government agency. From a big stack of forms in front of her, she was stuffing them into the slots, filling in the holes. She had a ways to go.

"Good moahning!" Then glancing at the clock, she added, "Well, I guess it isn't moahning anymoah is it?"

I forced a smile back. "I'm Sookie Stackhouse. I have…"

"I am Pam Ravenscroft," Pam interrupted, appearing suddenly out of a nearby doorway. There was no doubt who she was. This was the same woman I'd seen at Old Home Week and in the Globe, now within striking distance of me, in the flesh.

She didn't extend her hand and gave me a once over with her eyes. "Come back this way, please."

I followed her, feeling dowdy in my sweater coat. She, of course, looked impeccable in her silk sweater set and tailored pants. Forcing myself to walk with a normal gait, I felt the sweat starting to bead on my forehead. She led me down a hallway to her office, which overlooked the main street. Briefly, I noticed Amelia pushing E.J. on the opposite side of the street.

She gestured toward a seat. I took a gulp, steeling myself to take the pain as I forced myself to sit as quickly as a normal person would, one who wasn't still sporting stitches.

She was watching me, I knew, appraising me. "So, you're looking for Eric."

"Yes."

"Why."

"I need to find him for some home renovations."

"Home renovations?" Incredulity oozed out of her voice.

"Yes." I could feel my jaw tensing in place.

"Let's just cut the bullshit," she snapped at me.

"_Stay away from that woman," L.L.'s voice echoed in my head. _

I felt something inside of me snap too. "Fine with me. I'm looking for Eric, and it's none of your damn business why. I just am. Either you have his number or you don't. So let's not waste any more time with each other."

The expression on her face barely changed. Outside, I heard E.J. start to scream. Sweet Jesus, how had I picked up such super strong hearing? Immediately, I felt a warm tingly rush as my milk let down. _Hello? Message to boobs: Trying to have an adult conversation here. _

"I'll let Eric know you are looking for him."

"What are you, his personal assistant?"

She ignored my question. "I'm going to give you a big piece of advice that you would do well following."

She paused, adding emphasis as she scrutinized me again. And in that moment, it was as if she was really seeing me for the first time. Really seeing the dark, tired look on my face, my baggy, shapeless clothes, and my now crooked posture, leaning as I was toward one hip.

Her tone softened the slightest bit. "Know your neighbors, Sookie."

She stood up, which was the first indication that the meeting was now over. Grasping at her desk, I pushed up. She was still watching me.

"What?"

"I'll let Eric know," she repeated.

It was clear, then, that I was supposed to let myself out. _Know your neighbors?_ What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why the hell had I driven all the way to Clareham? She'd wanted to see me in person, to get a good look at me. To find out more about who I was. Nosey little bitch. Unless Eric contacted me, I'd have no way of knowing whether she'd given my contact information to him. And I knew she was going out of town, so who knew when she'd follow up with him, if ever. I was essentially back to square one. L.L. had been right. I should have stayed far away from her.

Know your neighbors?

_Groan._

* * *

**A/N:** Ooh...we're getting really close to fitting together some of these puzzle pieces. If I can post the next chapter by Monday, I will, but otherwise, I'll be taking some extra time to enjoy _Dead Reckoning._ (I can't wait!) ;)

_**~Thanks for reading!~**_

Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

_**Disclaimer: **All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.  
_


	13. When the Hits the Fan

**Recap of Previous Chapter: **Sookie recalls where she's seen Pam Ravenscroft, at last summer's Old Home Week Celebration with Eric. Having made the connection between Eric & Pam, she decides to call her, and ends up meeting with her. Pam tells Sookie she will pass along her message to Eric and gives her this cryptic message: "Know your neighbors."

**A/N:** All righty, then...

* * *

Chapter 13: **When the ** Hits the Fan**

Stepping out of the C-CAP office building onto Main St. in Clareham, the first thing that hit me was the sound of E.J.'s angry wailing echoing off the concrete surfaces, making it sound like he was crying at me from all directions. It felt good, actually. I had to admire the little guy for his ability to cut loose and let everyone know just how he felt, in no uncertain terms. Hearing him made me want to stand there in the middle of everything and publicly declare just how I felt at that moment, how freaking pissed off I was about all of the opaque messaging and puzzle talking. Why couldn't I? Really, what was there to stop me? Why couldn't I let out a primal scream? Maybe beat my chest, whip my hair around a bit, stomp my feet, launch myself at someone. Pam. I really wanted to haul my ass up on her desk—I could still do that, you know—grind my feet around her pristine work surface, and just fling my body at her. Heh. Flying through the air could be fun.

Or I could throw something. At home, I might throw a hairbrush, but why should I limit myself? There was so much more to be had in the world, so many bigger hairbrushes to throw. A trash barrel! That would be good. I could easily take down one of these trash barrels here on Main Street. They weren't bolted down or anything, just bungee'd to trees, which was pretty pathetic if you ask me. If I really rocked them around, they'd make a nice bang, like a crazed, out-of-tune steel drum. The trash would spew all over the place—the stinkier, the better—and I'd just fucking leave it there as evidence of my pure and utter fury. Other people would have to walk around it. Hell, some would even step right in it. They could share in my anger, walk around with it a bit and see how it felt. Maybe they would even track it home and grind it into their carpets. All the better. Let them deal with it.

Looking up and down Main Street, a whole line of trashcans was ripe for the picking.

So many trashcans.

So many screaming infants to feed. I'd have to throw something later.

"There you are!" Amelia laughed nervously. "So, I found out he doesn't take to pacifiers. He liked that little rumble-y strip of sidewalk over there for a while, but then he decided he was done with that."

"It's okay. He knows what he wants, and nothing gets in his way. It's a good thing too, isn't it?"

Amelia was looking at me strangely, probably wondering what was up. Her car chirped as she unlocked the doors. "I'll hand him to you."

Speaking of hauling asses, that's what I did as I climbed up into Amelia's gas-guzzling vehicle. Must be nice to not give a fuck about the planet.

I shushed into E.J.'s ear as I reached up my shirt to do the one-handed miracle maneuver of unhooking my nursing bra. Amelia started to hand me a blanket, then apparently thought better of it, setting it down between us. The screaming devil cherub in my arms took a few hits off my exposed nipple, wailed again, panted, and then latched on for good, grunting before letting out a big fart. Or more. Yeah. That was probably a diaper blow-out.

I started to laugh my crazy laugh, but E.J.'s strong tugs pulled me in another direction. Tears. Cripes.

Amelia had had the courtesy to look away, but I didn't know how long she'd be able to keep her mouth shut. A blur of motion on the sidewalk drew both of our attentions to a man riding by on a bicycle contraption, outfitted with a frame on which he'd hung voluminous trashbags crammed with returnable cans. He stopped at the trashcan just in front of our car to dig through it.

"What a shame...the extremes people need to go to to save a buck or two. What are those worth? Five cents a pop?" Amelia continued to natter on about how people needed to develop skills to become more employable and improve their lot in life. If I had to guess, I'd say the man was likely an illegal immigrant with poor English skills and few job prospects. Those cans probably meant the difference between a hungry family and a less hungry family. But this illuminating conversation would need to be shelved for another day.

I sniffled and took a heaving breath to chase the quiver out of my voice. "It didn't go so well in there. She wouldn't give me Eric's number."

"What?" Amelia's attentions were easily diverted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Only said she'd pass along the message that I was trying to get in touch with him."

"So she knows where he is!"

"Apparently."

"And she won't give it to you?"

"Nope. Which makes me really pissed off that no one is telling me what I need to know. Everyone seems to be withholding some vital piece of information, lording it over me."

"The nerve!"

"Right, and then she said, 'Know your neighbors.'" I snorted.

"Know your neighbors? Just that?"

I nodded. "And when I tried to ask her what she meant, she cut me off and just told me she'd tell Eric I was looking for him."

"Know your neighbors," Amelia repeated. Silence passed between us. I knew it was only a matter of time. She would not be able to hold out.

"The obvious person who comes to mind is William."

"How did I know you'd say that?" Truth was, he came to my mind too. How could he not? He'd been so vehement about my not going to Pam, and now she was pointing a finger, I could only imagine, in his direction. What could she possibly have against my other neighbor, the professor? Plus regardless of whatever Pam had meant by her cloaked message, there was no doubt L.L. was hiding something. But I wasn't ready to admit that yet, at least not out loud to people who were all too willing to scapegoat him.

E.J. squirmed. Looking down, I wondered if I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing, that his cheeks looked a little fuller than they had yesterday. Before I'd know it, he'd be grown, and I'd be looking back and wondering how I could have ever wished this all away. Cue the tearworks. Again.

I shook myself. "Aw, dammit!" The way my emotions were whipsawing around, it was hard to hold onto any single thought for longer than a moment. "Amelia, could you ask me some questions? Help me talk this out?"

"All right." She seemed to flounder for a moment. I'm sure she was trying to decide whether L.L. was off limits. "Tell me what you know about the professor, the one who rents the house on the other side of your house."

"He's quiet. He only comes here during school breaks, and I think he uses it mainly as a place to work on his papers." This was old news to her, but it was a starting point and got my brain back on track.

"What kind of work does he do?"

"Music. Jazz. He's published a few books on Louis Armstrong."

"Nothing controversial, right?"

"Not by most peoples' standards. I mean, I'm no musicologist, so I don't know how well he's regarded within his field."

"Does he ever have any friends over?"

"I've met his grandchildren. He's divorced. Maybe once a summer, he has a big picnic with a lot of family. I let him park on my property, and he always sends over a thank you gift. I called him once while he was away because one of his windows got broken in a storm. He took care of it, but gave me another number to call in case anything else happened."

"Who owns the property?"

"I don't know. The number he gave me was for a property management company."

"And he's been there for a long time?"

"Yeah. He's not the original renter, but he's been there for as long as I can remember. I don't even know who was there before him."

Amelia drummed her hands on the steering wheel. I wondered whether she'd have the patience to ask me anything else about the professor. What kind of car he drove. (A white sedan of one kind or another, safe and conservative). His political affiliation (Democratic, if his bumper sticker meant anything). His preference in laundry detergent (Tide; the bottles showed up in his recycling bin).

But none of this mattered. It was all useless odds and ends, trivial facts, floating out in space, disconnected. I blew out a puff of air in frustration. "All right, all right. Ask me some questions about L.L.?"

Amelia was ready. "How long has he been there?"

"He moved in shortly after Gran died, so that's roughly three years ago."

"And it's just him?"

"He'll have the occasional friend or two over, but nothing steady."

"Where is his law practice?"

"Plymouth."

"And what kind of law does he practice?"

"Real estate. Mostly commercial stuff."

"Does he do anything besides work?"

"Gardening. And he belongs to the Y." If there was anything else, I was unaware of it.

Feeling wetness seeping through E.J.'s sleeper, I grabbed the blanket between Amelia and me and wrapped it around his backside. It was, at best, a temporary patch.

"I don't know, Sookie."

Had she run out of questions already? His shoe size (11). His favorite movie (Alien). His favorite musician (Kenny G). Sweet Jesus, I should have gone through this exercise while we were dating and saved ourselves a whole heap of trouble. Maybe Amelia had more tact than I gave her credit for.

My head drooped against the window. Within moments, sitting there with E.J. smoothed the remaining jagged edges of my anger and lulled me into a sense of complacency. I could drift with him into a woozy, cozy dreamland. No. Forcibly, I straightened up again, pushing myself back to some level of alertness.

_Know your neighbors._

It's not like L.L. would tell me anything. It's not like I could torture it out of him by making him eat a plate of macaroni salad, even if I added garlic and extra mayonnaise to make it really slimy. And anyway, what would I ask him? What information was I supposed to get out of him? I'd make a pretty lame torturer.

Maybe I should put Pam and L.L. in a room together and make them duke it out. He was strong, but she looked pretty scrappy. She'd have to lose the pearls, though, and pull her hair back. L.L. would definitely make a cheap play and go for her hair.

_Know your neighbors._

Gran and I had been pretty lucky with our neighbors, all things considered. My only complaint about the professor was that it would have been nice to have someone a little more social and friendly. But at least he wasn't like that woman on the other side...what was her name...Lorna, maybe, who bought the Quigleys' house when they had moved out. Poor Mrs. Quigley. She'd had a rough time of it when Mr. Quigley developed Alzheimer's. She hadn't really wanted to move, but there was no way she could care for Mr. Quigley and the house all on her own. Gran had really missed them when they had to leave. They'd been good friends. And that woman Lorna was nothing like them. So pushy. She'd even tried to buy Gran's house. When Gran refused, she kind of left in a huff and kept to herself. She made another offer to me after Gran died, and then soon after that, sold her house to L.L.. I guess since she couldn't have what she wanted, she didn't want to stick around. Some people are really sore losers.

_Know your neighbors. _Blah, blah, fucking blah.

E.J. was starting to wrap it up. I pulled him upright to burp him, not even bothering to put a cloth on my shoulder. Agitated all over again by Pam's message, I was itching to do something. Anything.

If I went to L.L. right now and relayed Pam's message to him, he'd just point his finger straight back at Pam. I doubt he'd bother with the professor since he probably knew him even less than I did. I knew next to nothing about Pam, which would put me at a really bad disadvantage with L.L.. He'd be able to talk his way out of just about anything I threw at him. No, it would be a bad idea to confront him blindly like that.

The way I saw it, I needed to do a little digging about three people here—the professor, L.L., and Pam.

"Amelia, can we go to the library?"

"In North Dormer?"

"Mm-hmm. To search some of their databases."

"What do you have in mind?"

My mind was reeling from all of the countless possibilities I was imagining. Pam was a public figure who'd probably turned up quite a few times in the media. Hell, she'd been in the Globe just that morning. And as an attorney, L.L.'s name would likely crop up quite a few times too. I'd need to keep this manageable or else I'd just add more frustration to my growing pile.

"I was thinking I'd start with the most obvious and easy searches, like I'd do a quick check to see if Pam and L.L. come up in the same search. Then if that didn't turn up anything, I'd start with the easiest rule-out, which would probably be the professor. It wouldn't take much poking to confirm his story. And then after that..." Here is where I'd start to feel overwhelmed.

"You know, you can also look up deeds."

"At the library?"

"Yeah, I think the records are now online, though I don't know how far back they go."

"You're thinking about looking up the owner of the professor's home?"

"Can't hurt while we're at it. Probably wouldn't take too long."

Any plan was a plan. I'd consider the day a success if I could check some things off the list, starting with a pit stop for E.J. and me. "I need to stop in Dunkin' Donuts first. Help me carry in E.J.?" Those carriers were heavy.

I grabbed the diaper bag, knowing E.J. would need full wardrobe change. Once I got him cleaned up, Amelia took him so I could use the facilities on my own. Just like a day at the spa. Small perks in life can do wonders, and coming out, I suddenly found myself standing right in front of a whole counter full of donuts.

They were calling to me.

I realized I could have my pick. Any donut I wanted could be mine, no questions asked.

"I'll have a chocolate frosted, please."

The young boy who couldn't have been a day beyond legal working age reached for a plain chocolate frosted.

"Oh, the kind with sprinkles please. And I'll have a strawberry shortcake. And...a Boston cream...and..."

Variety was always good. I had three of the major food groups represented: chocolate, fruit, and dairy. All I was missing was something from the powdered group. "A dozen powdered donut holes." Nah. They were kinda boring. I wanted something new. "Make that a dozen chocolate butternut donut holes instead."

The little punk rolled his eyes. He was lucky I had my eyes set on my donuts or I would have given him a stern talking to about manners while serving the public. I didn't tip.

We headed back outside, the brown paper bag of donuts weighing heavy and plump with promise in my hands. I held the bag up to Amelia. "Would you like one?"

"No, thanks. I know better than to get between a woman and her donuts," she joked.

I figured if she really meant that, she wouldn't stop me from eating them in her car, but I offered her the out anyway. "Do you mind if I have them now?"

Amelia hesitated for the slightest moment before giving me the nod. I knew she was a neat freak, so this was probably a major concession for her. I might have to offer to vacuum out her car later because I didn't know whether I could hold back. I plunged my hand into the bag, not even knowing what I'd come up with. Didn't matter. It was all good. I pulled out a chocolate frosted. See what I mean? But first I picked off a sprinkle or two. Then I decided the Boston cream was feeling left out, so I took a big bite of it and struck pay dirt. (It's a lucky day when you get filling on your first bite.) And when my mouth wrapped around the strawberry shortcake, I was hit with a sudden inspiration: if I sampled the strawberry shortcake, immediately followed by a bite of the chocolate frosted, it would be like eating a chocolate-dipped strawberry.

Oooh. For good measure, I popped a whole chocolate butternut donut hole in and confirmed that you could never go wrong trying something new. My head was swimming with excitement.

Or maybe I was starting to crash. It occurred to me at that moment that while I had always thought of mental health as a continuum, ranging from rock-solid sane to off-my-rocker crazy, there might just be a tipping point, a very fine edge, the moment at which I would flip.

I licked my fingers as we pulled into the library parking lot. Donut carcasses lay in the bottom of the bag. I would scavenge from them later. For now, I needed to make myself presentable. There was more licking to be done.

"Are you all right?" Amelia looked at me uncertainly.

I flashed her a jelly smile. "I'm just great, Amelia."

Once in the library, we started with a quick-and-dirty search, yielding no hits with Pam _and_ L.L.. The reference librarian showed us some databases we could use to search for the professor, which easily turned up a dozen or more papers written by him, all if not on Louis Armstrong, then on a related subject in his field. We'd even been able to locate his Armstrong biography on the shelves and looked inside the flap for the author blurb and accompanying photo. Everything matched up with what I knew about him. For added measure, I went back online and pulled up his course syllabi for this semester to confirm he was still teaching.

"All right, so here's the Registry of Deeds website," Amelia indicated. "Looks like it goes back only five years."

"Let's give it a try anyway," I prompted. "It's 12368 Hummingbird Lane." I supposed it was still possible that ownership had changed at any time unbeknownst to me.

"Look," Amelia pointed. "Does the name Lorena Ball ring a bell?"

"Lorena? Yes!" I knew Lorna wasn't right. "Ball, is that her last name?"

"Mm-hmm."

"There was a woman named Lorena who owned L.L.'s house before he did."

"She bought the professor's house just under three years ago. And according to this record, she's still the owner."

"That's strange. If she's the same woman I think she is, why would she sell her house to L.L. and then buy this one? They're pretty much the same." Mine was the only antique. The other two had been built in the late 50s. Fairly standard stock. The most interesting thing about them was their location.

I considered. Was it the same woman? Maybe I had gotten the name wrong. No. Lorena sounded right. "Can we look for the deed to L.L.'s house and see if it shows her name?"

While Amelia clacked away at the keyboard, E.J. started to stir. I reached out with my foot to jostle his carrier. The day was officially wearing on me, grinding itself into me with the heel of its dusty boot. I pulled Amelia's sweater coat around me, suddenly chilled.

"Sookie, look. According to this record, Lorena still owns William's house."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a record here showing Lorena bought the house about four years ago."

"Right. That would have been when the previous owners, the Quigleys, moved out. There must be another record after that."

"Nope. That's the last sale that's registered."

_Know your neighbors._

For a brief moment, I paused, waiting for the familiar feeling of protective numbness to wash over me. Then, I rubbed my hands over my bleary eyes, sloughing off the film of disbelief.

I paused again. Was I seeing this correctly? If so, then Lorena owned all the property around mine.

"Amelia, why do I get the feeling that I'm a sitting duck?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. I know it looks bad, but maybe there's just a missed record. They've only recently gone online."

"Let's go." I was done.

Before heading out to the car, I stopped by the restroom once more, no spa retreat this time. I was finally and ultimately exhausted. Even the donuts had lost their appeal. Dried out, they rattled like loose bones inside their desiccated flesh of a bag. A deep and heavy queasiness had settled low within me.

"Could you drop me off at L.L.'s?"

"Oh...hey, Sookie, you look really beat. Kinda gray, even. Why not wait until tomorrow? It's already been a full day."

"No. I need to know what's going on." There would be one more item to check off my list.

"Well then at least let me watch E.J. for you."

"All right. I won't be long." Amelia dropped me off at L.L.'s house and then headed for my driveway.

He was surprised to see me at his door.

"What are you doing out?" He reached out for my arm in alarm.

I shrugged him away and got right to the point.

"Who owns your house?"

L.L. said nothing. His silence said everything.

"You didn't want me to go to Pam Ravenscroft. You were afraid of what she would say."

That annoying vibrating hum I had heard at Old Home Week was buzzing my ears. By sheer will, I forced my attention back to L.L..

"Sookie, let's sit down and talk about this. It's not what it seems. I'm worried about you."

"What do you know about Lorena Ball?"

His continued silence was infuriating me. In my head, I was taking that flying leap toward him, wrapping my hands around his neck, and wringing the living daylights out of him. But my leaden body would not obey me.

"Lorena wanted to buy my property too, and now she owns everything but mine. You're connected with her. I just know it! What's going on here? I feel like the vultures are circling, and you're one of them."

"It's not like that, Sookie! I'm trying to help. How many times have I offered to pay your real estate taxes for you?"

"Some help! You wouldn't need to offer if I had the money to pay for them myself!"

As soon as I said the words, I shocked even myself into silence. For a moment, anyway.

"You! That was no accident I lost all of that money, was it?"

"No! Come inside and listen. It's not like that, I swear. I know it looks bad, but it's not like that."

"God, I was the only one who trusted you, L.L.! Do you know how many times I stood up for you, even after I lost all of my money? I feel like such a fool!"

"Listen to me Sookie…"

"No, I'm done."

I turned around, the world spinning with me and continuing its wild circuit even as I stopped. L.L. grabbed me, his fingers digging in the tender part of my arm harshly.

"It's not me you need to be worried about."

I yanked my arm out of his grasp and threw my hands up in disgust, waiting for another coded message to puzzle over. This oughta be good. But when his lips formed a hard sneer, I knew his words would sink into soft flesh and hit bone.

"You know the name Leclerq?" Inside, I scrambled, tugging on the frayed edges of a cotton batting-like consciousness that I sought to wind around and around myself. If I could have muffled out his words at that moment, I would have. He was looking to maim.

"Leclerq has submitted a development proposal for this property."

And then the world finally stopped its wobbling orbit, and the humming shushed, and I sank deep, welcoming the peaceful darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** You still with me? Thanks for reading. ;)

And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

**Disclaimer: **All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.


	14. Love Shack, Baby

**Recap of Previous Chapter: **Amelia helps Sookie puzzle over the message given to her by Pam: Know your neighbors. Together they head to the library, where they discover that Lorena Ball owns all the property around Sookie's, including L.L.'s house. Sookie confronts L.L., who gives her little additional information other than telling her that Leclerq submitted a development plan to Lorena. Sookie passes out.

**A/N:** So, did you catch that? I'm not sure how many people caught it, but that last line of chapter 13 is Sookie passing out. Moving right along, we're flashing back...

* * *

Chapter 14: **Love Shack, Baby**

_Nighttime. Here in the loft of Eric's dune shack, the wooden slats of the ceiling hovered so close, that lying on my back, I could see the chewed, swirling grain. I'm sure if I looked hard enough, I'd be able to see things, like a bunny, or a snow cone, or a flower, or whatever it is that people see when they look up at the clouds in the sky. I could see those things if I tried, I suppose, but what I always noticed instead-what the ceiling here always called my attention to-were the toothy, splintery bits that no one had ever smoothed._

_Not that it mattered. Here, this was just the way things were._

_Oh, sure, if you were used to one of those beach motels, the kind with running water, the same kind whose front doors open onto concrete, you might call this place rustic. Or if you fancied a line-up of condos, situated on the bay, staggered in a step-like fashion to maximize your standard balcony view, you might call it unfinished. Or if you had enough money in your vacation fund to spend a week in a beachside mansion pretending you belonged to another lifestyle, you would call it crude._

_Not here. Here, this was it, the way it was meant to be, the way it had been for nearly 100 years. _

_If I stretched my leg out and pointed my foot, I'd be able to graze my toe against this prickly ceiling. But I didn't need to reach out and touch it—again—to know how it felt. I remembered well how it had felt when I'd bumped my head a few times. Mm-hmm, and I'd pulled a splinter or two out of Eric's ass, though I won't even begin to try to describe how they had gotten there. (You're thinking about that now, aren't you?) So I guess both of us had gotten a little bruised, bumped, and scraped during our…enthusiasm. No matter. It didn't take too much trial and error for us to get the hang of it and figure out just where the limits were. Neither of us had suffered for it. In fact, it was a safe, comfortable place. Plus there was still plenty of room for creative maneuvering up here. Who knew the two of us could be so inventive? _

_Down below us, the kerosene lamp dangling above a table shone its thin, but steady light that made all the wooden surfaces of the walls and ceiling and floor glow warm and golden pink like the sunrise. Shutting my mind to the inky blackness outside, I could almost pretend that nighttime was morning._

_Aside from the table, there were two simple, straight-backed chairs that at any point could be found scattered in miscellaneous spots around the shack, depending on the need of the moment. One functional, but rickety dresser held most of whatever possessions Eric had brought. Above a small stretch of green Formica countertop, open shelving hung, for things like plates, mugs, and glasses. Underneath the counter, Eric had stored cases of water. He'd also brought in his drafting table and set it up not near the window facing the water, but along the window facing the dunes, which stretched out unbroken so far they faded to nothingness. On clear days, nothingness seemed forever away. But on hazy days, nothingness pressed near, making you squint and pull back like you were trying to read a book that was too close. _

_Up in the loft, Eric lay next to me, his hand clasping mine by our sides. Lying next to him like this, I could feel the length of him beyond me, the top of my head and the tips of my toes tingling like he was some phantom body extension._

"_Did you have to go into Boston today?"_

"_No. I was able to set up a conference call from a client's home. I think we got it all worked out. There were some structural issues that Sophie-Anne wanted to be addressed by an engineer. He gave us the go-ahead, which is what I had said all along." _

"_Is this the cape in West Falmouth?"_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"_Did they come around?"_

"_Yes." His eyes had picked up a spark. He turned to his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows so he could sketch a rectangle onto the sheets. "So here's the basic shape of a cape. They wanted to add a simple addition out the side that would turn their house into a longer rectangle. That's boring. A lot of additions to old capes like this were added in piecemeal fashion over the years. So they often have a section that comes out the back this way." He drew another rectangle, creating a T shape. "And then if they wanted to add more space later, they often built in this direction." He sketched another rectangle at right angles to the first addition."_

"_Now it looks like a 'T' with an 'L' bottom."_

"_Exactly."_

"_I've seen houses like this with attached garages too. The garages come forward, though not as far forward as the front of the house. So it ends up looking like an uneven 'U.'"_

"_Right. That's it." He settled down, on his back, looking satisfied. "Now, if I'm reading this couple right, the husband is just along for the ride. She makes the decisions. And I think I can convince her to use some mixed, reclaimed materials to make it look like the addition was built in phases. Only problem is I don't know this contractor well and how he'll take to my…suggestions. I'll have to get a feel for that. But I think I'm close on this one."_

_He turned his head and looked at me with that driven, focused set to his face, the same one I'd seen on that day when he'd explored my home, the same one that would always snap a thrill in me. "What time did you go in?" _

"_Ten. Arlene was in a pissy mood because she couldn't get anyone to cover for her. I didn't have many meal guests, but I spent a lot of time trying to track down some size 4 diapers for a mom. I couldn't find an agency that could help her, so I ended up just buying them. But there's gotta be a better way."_

_We were quiet again, which made me notice how different the noises here were compared to my home. Here, the surf pounded hard and loud through the thick, salty air. When a stiff breeze picked up, the beach grasses whispered their secrets and said, "Shush" all at once. Real shutters—not the decorative kind—rattled loosely against the side of the shack. But there were no crickets. And no chorus of frogs. And no car traffic. And no TV or music or computer._

"_Don't you use a computer for your projects?"_

"_Oh, yeah. Have to. But I always start on paper. That's what I like best."_

_He shifted to his side. I turned to face him._

"_What made you want to become an architect?"_

_He raised his eyebrows at me and started to laugh._

"_Ah…hmm…"_

_His laughing hesitation immediately piqued my interest. "Oh, come on. I haven't stumped you, have I?"_

"_No…no…"_

_He was still smiling sheepishly, which I took as a green light to go ahead. "I've never seen you speechless. Quiet, yes, but speechless, no. Now I'm really curious."_

"_Once I tell you this, there's no going back."_

"_Okay."_

"_You may never look at me the same way again."_

"_You're stalling."_

"_Not for me. For you. I'm giving you time to back out."_

"_You're still smiling, which doesn't scare me."_

"_Maybe I should be scowling then." He twisted his face into a grimace._

"_Ack!" I pulled back, pretending to be afraid.  
_

"_I burned down my adoptive parents' shed."_

_Whoa. That made my heart gallop. Fire setting was s__**o **__not a good sign. I sat up tall on my knees, nearly bumping my head. I was going to cut him off, tell him, "That's okay, don't let that particular cat out of the bag," when he continued._

"_Well, it was their 'outer space house.'"_

"_Their what?" I asked cautiously._

"_Exactly. Who calls a shed an 'outer space house?'"_

"_Sounds like a spaceship."_

"_I know. Didn't look much better, either. It was a huge, modern monstrosity, totally out of keeping with the neighborhood."_

_He waited. I was sure he was waiting for my prompt. Aw, hell, I was in this too far already, and now I couldn't help myself. I was really curious. "So you burned it down on purpose?" _

"_No! Not on purpose. Not really..." _

_I held quiet. _

"_It was more like… two adolescent boys curious about lighting their own... __methane."_

_He stopped again, looking up at me expectantly with a cocked smile while I considered this news._

_It took me a split second. "You were lighting...farts?" I stumbled over the word. Somehow saying it out loud, up here in the loft with him, made me feel again like that little kid behind the garden shed. Or an outer space house._

_I took his silence as a yes._

_A snicker escaped before I could stop it. Clamping my hands over my mouth, I looked at Eric, who— I was relieved to see—was starting to lose it too. There's nothing worse than sharing a personal story and then having someone point at you and laugh in your face. No, laughing was okay here, which was good, because by then, there was no stopping a snort. Okay, maybe another snort happened too. And then before I knew it, whatever tension had been coiling inside seized my gut, turning __itself into one of those long, hard knots of a laugh. Rigid and breathless, I crashed down next to Eric, where I could feel his body shaking in unison with mine. I clutched at my sides, noticing from the inside out just how it felt to laugh this hard. It was the kind of laugh I hadn't felt in I-don't-know-how long. Sure, it was laced with relief and a dash of mania. I'd been a fool for treading so close._

_But I hadn't gotten burned. _

_No…no. I wasn't going to let myself think too hard about this one. _

_Except for one thing. _

_He was watching me in amusement. I returned his gaze and took a big gulp of air. "Does that work?"_

_He laughed again. "For some better than others. I think my friend Clancy still has a few small scars on his ass. Apparently some of us have more methane than others."_

_I bumped against him. "Are you trying to tell me your farts don't stink__?"_

"_I'm just saying what happened."_

_I settled back down, enjoying the afterglow that comes from a good, demon-chasing belly laugh. Almost as good as sex. _

"_Wait a minute. How do you go from lighting farts to becoming an architect?"_

"_After we figured out that no one was hurt—badly—my adoptive parents were pissed. They loved their outer space house and held me responsible for having it rebuilt. So to piss them off, I hired an expensive, highly-regarded architect. One thing led to another and…"_

"_That must have been some college application essay."_

"_Please. You know as well as I do how much bullshit goes into those things."_

_I didn't want to think about that too much, though the expression 'tip of the iceberg' popped into my head before I could stop it._

"_Oh my gosh. Now I feel like we're even." _

"_Even?"_

"_For grabbing your…you know... on April Fools' Day."_

"_I've never complained about that moment. And if I had known it was a contest, I could have evened up the score much sooner."_

"_Shush." Enough. I silenced him with a kiss. And another. And some more. On our sides, facing each other, we kissed to our heart's content, with a little bit of groping too. It was a fine line we were walking there, hovering right on the delicious edge of frenzy._

_Who knows how long we stayed like that. It might have been minutes. It might have been longer. At some point, whenever that was, I pulled him onto me. Looking up at the ceiling, grinning, I said, "I think this is probably safest, don't you?" The mass of his weight pushed down, melded to me. I felt like we might become permanent fixtures of that shack._

_He pulled up to look at me. "I don't mind going with the flow."_

_I laughed. "Eric, when you go with the flow, I wonder what you're angling for."_

"_I'm saying I don't mind running a red light."_

"_Oh, I know."_

"_It's okay then?"_

_I had the feeling I was missing something. "You're going to have to spell this one out for me."_

_He was kissing his way down my body, stopping, finally, on my belly, where his hand was stroking circles._

"_Period sex. Sail the Red Sea. Surf the red tide."_

"_I got it, I got it. Enough. And no, I don't have my period."_

"_You don't? I thought it was time." Eric had resumed kissing my belly, tugging my shorts down. _

"_No. In a few days." I pictured the two pills remaining in my pack and heard the rattle and snap of their plastic and foil._

_But even as I was saying the words, I was mentally counting backwards. I remembered the last time I had gotten my period, on the first day of summer. It stood out in my mind. How many days are there in June? Dammit, which ones have 30 and which ones have 31? I counted them off on my knuckles, which is the only way I can remember. Knuckles have 31 days. Valleys have 30. January, February, March, April, May, June…June is in a valley. 30 days. Then I counted forward into July. _

_Shit. I wasn't just two days off. I was three days off. Had I started the pack late? I counted again. _

_Definitely late._

_I knew I'd been distracted by Eric. Obsessed by his body was more like it. Had I been that distracted that I'd messed up my pills by three days? We'd stopped using condoms once we'd both been cleared. I felt ill._

"_Hey, do you want to open a bottle of wine?"_

_But my lips were already back on his, fervent and desperate. Without breaking the connection of our mouths, I reached down to fumble with his jeans, undoing them with my hands and then using my feet to shove them down his legs. I pushed him over onto his back, and straddling him, yanked off my shirt and bra. Without a moment's hesitation, I lowered myself onto him, causing us both to gasp. Shifting and angling, I braced against the ceiling, gaining such force that I felt him deep within me as a punch in the gut. Still, I pressed harder, gripping the splintery beams, feeling their vibrating shudder. I wondered whether I might lift the whole roof off. _

_It wasn't pretty or sweet or tame. _

_It was fast and hard and explosive and loud. Wild and visceral. We were a grunting mass of writhing, slapping, shapeless flesh._

"_Fuck, Sookie." My tangled, messy hair swept down over him. _

"_Come on," I said, barely giving either of us time to catch our breath. Climbing off his hips, I tugged on him to follow me, fully naked, down the loft ladder, out the door of the shack, and down the path that cut between the dunes to the water. The half moon lit our way well enough, shining on the sea like long smear of light. Wildly, crazily, I took on the waves, diving into them before they crashed onto me. Somewhere from behind, I heard a yelp from Eric before he pulled me close to him. Briefly, the moon lost its way behind a cloud, turning everything into a dark, womb-like slosh before finally, a surprise wave crashed over us, our hands slipping apart as we tumbled in the scrubbing surf. _

_And nothingness pressed itself right onto my eyeballs._

* * *

**A/N: **We'll find out what happens to Sookie in the next chapter.

So...how about Dead Reckoning? I _loved_ it! *shivers* My brain's been working overtime thinking about it. Oh, I've got it bad- I've cracked out my highlighters for a color-coded re-read. ;)

Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

**Disclaimer**: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

**~Thanks for reading!~**


	15. Water Breaks

**A/N**: *Heads up* There's some material in this chapter, immediately following this opening flashback scene, that contains references to rape.

**Recap of previous chapter:** Sookie recalls the night in Eric's dune shack when they discussed Eric's reasons for becoming an architect and she first realized she might be pregnant.

**Disclaimer: **All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

* * *

Chapter 15: **Water Breaks**

_The waves pushed us apart that night, tossed us in the surf like bits of broken shells. Coughing and sputtering, we washed up on the shore only when the sea was done with us. I stood up first and looked down at Eric, lying on his back and propped up on his elbows, eyes cast out toward the water as the waves lapped at his feet. _

_I laughed crazily, still pumped up from the wild way I'd been flung about. I'd needed the roughness- the hard, pounding sex and the biting scrape of sand—to overtake the flooding panic. Desperately, I wanted anything but panic. My straggly hair hanging about me like strands of seaweed, I must have looked like some kind of sea monster. _

_Eric stood up and wiped his face with his hands, flicking away the water still dripping from his brow. "You're bleeding." _

"_Oh!" Relief. It had all been a big mix up, an error in accounting. Unabashed, I spread my thighs open and looked down, but saw nothing but sand and sea water. My eyes fixed there, I jumped at his unexpected touch on my hip, where a stream of blood was forming. Oh. _

"_Waves are rough tonight." He pulled me close, his sandy flesh chafing against mine._

"_Yes," I choked out. Tears were coming, tears that were much too powerful for a little cut on my hip. I gulped them back in a way that made a huge knot right in the middle of my chest. _

_His eyes flickered away. "It's nothing we can't fix with a quick clean-up."_

_Yes. A quick clean-up would be good. I barely nodded, afraid I might really shake something loose inside. _

_Back in the shack, Eric handed me a towel and pulled one of the chairs up to the table for me to sit. From underneath the counter, he retrieved a first-aid kit and a bottle of water, and then pulled the other chair up across from mine. He washed away the sand and saltwater from the wound and dabbed at it with a gauze pad. "There. See? You won't need stitches. It's just a scrape," he said, smoothing on a spot of antibiotic ointment. He patched on a bandage. "Good as new." His hands stroked my thighs._

_I couldn't look him in the eye just then, but I didn't want him to release me from his gaze. And anything he wanted to do with his hands would be just fine with me. _

* * *

But there were too many hands.

An insistent voice said my name. "Sookie? Can you hear me? Sookie? You're in the hospital."

"It's just a scrape," I told her.

Another voice, buttery and unctuous, murmured in my ear. It was too smooth to be soothing. People who talk to you like that have a reason, and usually it's not a good one. I wanted to throw up. Maybe I did. The sour taste of bile coated my tongue. Hands patted at my head, smoothed my hair. I jerked away. "Don't touch me!" A mask smothered my face. I could feel the press of it around my nose and mouth. Could I still talk?

This wasn't right. There were too many bodies around me, moving quickly, surrounding and confusing me. Their soft-soled shoes squished on the floor. I hoped they were white shoes. Mr. Beck, our 8th grade PE teacher had admonished us to not wear black sneakers in the gymnasium. "Black soles leave a mark," I wanted to tell them. I pictured the long, dark streaks that had marred the gym floor.

Wheels rolled by. A cloth flapped, unfurling. Bodies swished. Plastic and paper tore. There was a lot of that noise—plastic and paper tearing—and things dropping to the floor. Plastic and paper make a dry, rustling noise when they fall, and crinkle when they're stepped on. Other things sound wet and heavy. Something hissed. There was beeping too.

Their incessant voices talked around me and over me, but I couldn't catch their slippery words. They spoke in code, in puzzle talk, not making any sense. Numbers. Barked orders. Lingo that meant nothing to me. They said my name, over and over. _Yes, I'm here. Tell me what is happening!_

Oh, no, this wasn't making any sense. There was another voice to the side, and then a man. Loud and commanding. Right over me. His voice brought an unpleasant clarity, made me jump, want to flee, but when I tried to move, _that's_ when I felt the hands pinning my knees back. And when I tried to kick, cool air licked my bare flesh.

Oh! I was splayed naked. And so very cold.

Wild, unbridled panic snapped at my heels and caught hold. There were more hands. There were hands pressing and digging down—so very hard—wrenching unbearable pressure on the tender parts of me. Pain ratcheted me up to an even higher level of clarity. _No! I take it back! I don't want to know! _

_Oh, God_, the hands were touching everywhere.

_No, don't touch me there!_ Did I say it or think it?

If I could have floated away, I would have, but their relentlessly pressing hands brought me back every time, fastened me right down to that table. There was more tearing too, of me. I felt sure of it. "You'll have to stitch me up again," I told them. Yes. I'm sure I said that aloud. _Hello? You can't do this to me without putting me back together again_. I think I might have laughed too in my own forced way. "Make it look pretty," I told them. I did. I said it just like that. Some things can be fixed.

All of those hands exhausted me. They let go, finally, so I could float, warm again.

Floating is always easier than struggling to stay on top.

"_Lie back, Sookie," Gran had coached me in the pond. "Just let yourself go."_

_Sinking back into the water had felt so wrong. As soon as my head had touched the water, I'd panicked and stiffened. And sank._

_She was right. Once I trusted her and relaxed, I floated. Letting go made me buoyant._

Here is where I would float.

"Hey, Sookie. Sookie! It's me. I'm here. Sookie?"

Something was tugging at me, trying to lift me out of the water. I struggled against it, and even as I struggled, I felt myself lifting more. This wasn't how this was supposed to work. Struggling should make me sink, pull me under. Only, which way was up? Disoriented now, I couldn't tell.

I lay back, willing my body to go limp.

The hand pulled at me.

I rolled my head and felt my eyelids flutter. Jerking away from the hands grasping at mine, I tried to anchor myself here in my soothing place.

"Sookie?"

Somewhere a rope creaked, rubbed by the waves against its mooring. Somewhere, a boat was secure against the tugs and pull of the tide.

I squinted. Or I imagined my ears squinted, if there could be such a thing, trying to make sense of the creak, which had turned into more of a chirp, a metallic, unnatural scraping that pricked at my ears. I wanted it to stop. I felt the beginnings of another cold chill.

"Sookie, wake up. I'm here."

The fingered chill found its way, prodding and poking until finally bursting the protective water-like bubble around me. Consciousness sliced through me. I gasped, taking in a deep breath, as though testing out my lungs for the first time.

'Sookie? Can you hear me? You're in the hospital."

A deep and heavy ache had settled low in my belly, where a boulder-like weight had lodged itself atop me. I didn't like the feeling of being trapped here and being peered at. Yes, there was a pair of eyes too.

"Eric," I mumbled.

"Eric? Who's Eric?"

Oh, it was Jason. And then I got doused with a bucketful of clarity. Someone important was missing. "E.J!"

I struggled to come up now, thrashing against the heaviness and sluggishness overpowering me.

"Easy, easy! He's okay. He's okay! You're in the hospital. He's here in the nursery. Been raising hell." He called for the nurse. "Jesus, you scared the shit out of us."

Knowing E.J. was okay, I held quiet and tentatively looked around. I seemed to be in a standard hospital room. Plain light beige walls. Vinyl-covered chair by a window. A sink. A printed curtain that would wrap around my bed. Where did they get the fabric for those stupid curtains? They always looked the same, with insipid tones and prints that said, "Shh. Take care. Somebody is sick here." I hated them.

My eyes were drawn down to the end of the bed, where there seemed to be pointy things poking up, making a little tent down there. Were those my feet? That was the end of my body, wasn't it? I tried wiggling my toes just to check. The tent wiggled too. Yes. That was where my body ended. Excellent.

"Do you remember what happened?" I heard Jason, but I was too busy wiggling my toes. My fingers worked too, and yes, they were there where they were supposed to be. All mine. The rest of my body was dicey at the moment.

"Sookie, do you hear me? Sookie?"

Oh, hey, my eyebrows could move too. Gran and I could make our eyebrows go up and down like a see-saw, something Jason could never do, but I didn't think I'd try that at the moment.

"Sookie, do you remember what happened?"

With that brief adrenaline rush gone, even simple movements seemed to take an enormous amount of energy. I sighed heavily, noticing the way my ribs opened up. I was still figuring out where my body ended and the rest of the world began. Where were the margins?

"You passed out at Bill's. It's lucky he called 911 right away. God, Sookie, you were bleeding all over the place. You should have seen your sweater. It was soaked. And they had to give you a transfusion, but they got the bleeding stopped. Thank God, because they asked me permission to do a hysterectomy if it was necessary, but it wasn't, so, you know, you're still a woman. I mean, you can still have kids, but I… "

Jason continued his yammering as the final splash of icy cold realization washed over me. The hands. Pamela. Know your neighbors. Lorena. L.L. Leclerq. Eric. The hands.

It was all back to me again. A sob escaped. If I could have curled to one side, I would have, but I couldn't seem to work up the energy to do it. Still, I turned my head away from Jason.

"Shhh. Shhh." I could hear him hitting the call button again just as Nurse Carney came breezing in.

"Morning, Sookie."

Maybe she was peering down at me. I think she asked Jason to leave, but I was losing focus again, drawn to the pressing weight on my belly. My fingers gripped the waffle weave of the blanket covering me.

"I can give you something for the pain." Vaguely, I felt the squeeze of the blood pressure cuff on my arm. That was the last I'd remember again for a little while.

When I woke up again, Jason was gone, but Nurse Smith was there. I smiled. I liked her. It took me a moment to remember that I was back in the hospital, not still here from E.J.'s birth, but back.

"You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Like a train wreck," I managed.

"Yes," she seemed to agree. "How's the pain?"

"Better, I think." I was thinking about shifting my body and testing it out, when from the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw her hand reach toward me. I flinched. She stopped immediately.

"I'm just going to touch you right here." She pressed against her own abdomen. "I won't press hard. Can you give me your hand?"

I reached out. She pressed my own hand against me. "Do you feel that? That's the top of your uterus. It's much firmer now and shrunk down closer to the way it should be. See? It's just below your belly button."

She pulled the dreadful curtain closed so she could "check my bleeding." Surrounded by ugliness, I found nothing pleasant about this procedure, but there was nothing to be done about it. As she carefully peeled the blankets away and lifted my gown, I realized that at some point I'd picked up a few extras-a catheter, an IV, and a pad between my legs that felt more like a diaper.

"Can you lift your bottom?" Bracing my feet against the bed, I realized indignantly that I couldn't, really. No matter. She managed to shift the hospital-issue mesh granny panties down and set to work cleaning me up. I scrambled inside myself, looking for some scrap to hang onto. Humor.

"So it looks like I have a few of this season's hot fashion accessories." The joke fell flat even on my own ears. There really wasn't any use trying. This sucked.

I started to cry. She handed me a tissue.

"Would you like to see E.J.? You can feed him if you'd like."

I nodded, wanting nothing more.

I was never so glad to see someone in my life as I was at that moment, and that's when I really and truly lost it. I couldn't decide exactly what I felt like crying about most at that moment—there were good things and bad things—but I went with it anyway. I would sort through the mess in my head later. It wasn't like I was going to stop the tears anyway.

Nurse Smith had helped me turn onto my side and get E.J. latched on. I pulled his cap off to admire his wild, spiky golden hair as he nursed greedily. While she stayed there, helping to hold him in place, I cried some more until the hiccups came. Soon, I started to drift off, and shortly after that, I felt her lift E.J. from my arms and cover me up.

That's how the whole first day passed, kind of in a blur, marred by bouts of realization.

People were extra cautious around me, with all of their checking and monitoring and "let's-take-a-looking." Yeah, that wasn't pleasant—frightening even—but it happened so often, I got used to it, which helped me cover over and make sense of those terrifying moments in the ER.

_I was alive, and those hands had saved my life._

Tara came by on the second day with some of my favorite pjs from home. Best of all, she just sat with me while she paged through some magazines, occasionally pointing out mundane or ridiculous things like simple skillet suppers, Oprah's platitude of the month (Make your life count, now!), or adding color to your shade garden—things that got me grounded and feeling like a normal person again, and I loved her for that. With her there, I could come back into my head and my body and take a look around.

"Tara, I think I'm in a bit of a jam."

She set down her magazine. I didn't know where to begin. It all seemed so complicated.

"I found out that a woman named Lorena Ball owns all of the property around mine. She's the same woman who offered to buy Gran's house a couple times."

"So _she_ owns William's house?"

"Yes. He lied to me about that. Or at least he hid that from me." I couldn't remember whether we'd ever outright talked about who owned his house. I'd probably just assumed it, with good reason. "And I don't know exactly what his relationship is with this woman Lorena, but I suspect it's more than a simple tenant-landlord kind of relationship."

I paused, considering whether I could say this next bit out loud. I decided to forge ahead. "It's even possible that L.L. deliberately mismanaged my money to put me in a position where I'd _have_ to sell my house."

I was grateful, at that moment, that Tara held calm. It gave me courage to keep going. "But it's really hard to know. L.L. offered to pay my real estate taxes on more than one occasion. Why would he have offered if he had been part of a plan to force me to sell? Maybe he knew I'd refuse him. It seems like an awfully twisted plan, though. Do you think he's capable of that kind of duplicity?"

Tara paused. "It seems hard to believe, doesn't it? I mean, it's hard to believe that about someone you trusted."

Though I had asked the question myself, I was grateful she didn't leap in with an L.L. berating, making me feel like an even bigger fool. Plus there was no denying the fact that aside from anything else he'd done, he'd helped save my life. No, of course he wouldn't have deliberately let me bleed to death there on his doorstep. But he'd been there with me, and he'd made the call, and for that, I felt connected to him, regardless of anything else. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe he didn't deserve any extra points for doing what any decent human being would do. It was all very confusing.

My mind wandered, thinking about what might have happened if I had left his home, in the dark, and passed out somewhere between our houses.

"Sookie?"

Amelia wouldn't have known I was on my way. L.L. wouldn't have known I didn't make it home. How long could I have lain there on the lawn?

"Sookie?"

E.J. could have been left without a mother or a father.

"Sookie!"

Startled, I looked back at Tara.

"Do you want to keep talking about this?"

"Yes." I needed direction.

"So it sounds like you're the lone hold-out."

"Or the sitting duck."

Maybe from a practical standpoint, this was what I should have been thinking about—what was going to happen to the property around me, and my own property for that matter. My home. What were their plans? Would I eventually be swallowed up? How long would I be able to hold out? They couldn't just take my property, but they could make it hard for me to stay, or give me enough incentive to leave. Or more likely, I could run out of money to maintain it. What could I do to fight back?

These might have been the things I should have been thinking about, but what was really on my mind was wondering what Eric's involvement had been with the proposal Leclerq had submitted. _Sookie, I have obligations. _

"And that's not all. According to L.L., Eric's architecture firm proposed a plan for developing Lorena's property."

Tara, bless her, held steady. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"I don't know. I wasn't in the best state when he told me." For all that I knew, I realized there was a lot more that I didn't know. There were still plenty of missing puzzle pieces. Like how were Pam and L.L. connected? And how were Pam and Eric connected? If they were friends, why would she have given me a message that had indirectly implicated Eric?

It was a very bad case of the more you know, the more you realize what you don't know.

"Eric had to have known about Leclerq's business relationship with Lorena. He was a freaking partner in the firm. He'd known for sure, right?" Of course he'd known. Why else would he have come looking for me and my home? The only reason I held any doubts was because it was just too painful to consider otherwise. The very thought of his putting pencil to paper, drawing me right into his plans…

"Tara, it doesn't look good, does it?"

She hesitated. "Well, you don't know everything. You still don't know why he left his firm. Maybe he left because he realized he'd gotten himself into quite a conflict."

I wasn't sure that sounded like Eric. "You really think he'd actually leave behind his own business to carry on a summer fling?"

"I don't know, but you said he'd hinted at starting up something more with you, and that you missed it at the time."

My breath hitched here. I'd missed something that was maybe even more important. I'd missed my own feelings on the matter of us. We'd started off our summer gloriously carefree, stumbled along the way, and then somehow had found our balance, only to be thrown off balance by a few missed pills. I thought about that night in the shack, how we'd talked and laughed, and how the panic had washed it all away, almost as if it had never existed, the moment I'd heard the rattle of those pills.

The summer fling had been an illusion. Sure, I'd packaged it up nice and tidy and sold it to myself as a carefree season, a time to get lost in the pleasure of him—his body, his laughter, the surprising lighthearted parts of him…his intent fascination with his profession…the thrilling dark side of him, lurking…

Eric hadn't come a la carte. There was no plucking the cupcake from atop the crossbones; he wasn't just dessert. He was a whole big package, and along with the fun parts had come troubles too. At minimum, Eric had kept his knowledge about his firm's plans from me. At worst…well, he'd come into my life with ill intent and trespassed all over my home and body…and my heart too. Yes, my heart had gotten wrapped up in it too. I knew this now, the pain of his deception cutting to the quick. I'd been a fool thinking I'd be able to keep things neat and tidy with him.

Somehow Tara seemed to know what was running through my head. "Don't beat yourself up, Sookie."

There is almost nothing more lovely than having the support of someone who knows you to the core. With Tara in the room there with me, I cried some more.

That just about wiped me out for the day, and when the nurse at the front desk called to say, "There is a man here who says he's…" I cut her off, without a second thought. "No more visitors, please." Jason had exhausted me. I spent the rest of the afternoon dozing on and off in a welcome fog. Tara left at some point, leaving me a little note with her stack of magazines. When I woke up for dinner, I noticed that some flowers had been delivered—a bouquet of pink carnations from Sam, a planter from Amelia, and another bouquet of pink carnations from Alcide. I was in the process of reading the cards when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sookie, it's Jay. We have a little problem here."

"What?"

"You have a burst pipe in the upstairs bathroom. Water gushed everywhere. Luckily, Amelia was here and shut the water off. She called her dad, who sent a plumber over who said he can fix it, but…"

_It'll be expensive. ._

"It has to be done, right?"

"Yeah. You don't have any water."

"All right, then. What about Amelia?"

"She's going to stay with Holly for a few days. Oh, and the craziest thing happened."

"Besides the burst pipe?"

"When the plumber was ripping apart the walls…"

I winced. _Did he have to describe it in those gory details_?

"…he found a big bundle of old letters. Looks like they're letters written by Gran to Fintan."

* * *

**A/N**: When I think about Sookie & Gran in this story, I think of this poem, "First Lesson," by Philip Booth, who was a New England author. Oh, it's sentimental and accessible (free of puzzle talking) which is sometimes just what a gal needs. ;)

www(dot)poemhunter(dot)com/poem/first-lesson/

**~As always, thanks for reading!~**

**And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose ;) **


	16. Herstories

**A/N: **There is a brief mention of Uncle Bartlett at the end of this chapter.

**Recap of Previous Chapter: **Sookie experiences a traumatic re-hospitalization for a late post-partum hemorrhage. Tara helps her make sense of the puzzling new information she's learned about L.L., Leclerq, Lorena Ball, and Eric. Jason calls Sookie to tell her that a pipe burst in her house, and old letters from Gran to Fintan were found.

**Disclaimer:** All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England and introducing them to Miss Royall, Miss Balch, and Mr. Harney, Edith Wharton characters.

* * *

Chapter 16: **Herstories**

Jason brought the letters by the hospital the next day in a big brown envelope, overstuffed. Some, sadly enough, weren't salvageable, their ink smeared and blurred beyond legibility. Regretfully, I let them go, putting them in a pile for recycling.

Many weren't dated. What's more, in an effort to dry them, Jason had spread them out, separating the letters from their postmarked envelopes. It was overwhelming, really, sifting through those pieces, trying to fit them into some semblance of order, not knowing whether I was doing it right. I needed it to be right. For once, I wanted those puzzle pieces to fit together just so.

When I picked them up, I noticed their once smooth surfaces were now pockmarked and warbled from their swim in the water. They made a crinkling noise, and felt textured in my hands—real and alive—like I was holding a living, breathing piece of Gran. I listened hard for her voice and could hear it again, as if she were reading them aloud to me. I needed her to speak to me.

The letters went back decades, longer than I'd ever realized she'd known Fintan. Page after page told of all the newsy kinds of things going on in Gran's life, out there in western Massachusetts with her husband, my Grandpa Mitchell, and their two children, Linda and Corbett, my father.

_Of course the Christmas season was busy as usual. You know how hard it is to say no at this time of the year. But it's always nice to see hard work bringing good things. The church bazaar was extremely successful, raising enough money to finally make those parsonage roof repairs. And the food pantry managed to gather up some last minute donations so that no one was turned away. It's sad to see that money is tight this year for a lot of folks.  
_

_**...**  
_

_Corbett made the varsity basketball team for the first time this year. All of those practices and games have taken up most of his free time, but he seems to like it, and is doing very well. Linda has been busy too with her sewing. She's picked it up so fast that she's even sewing her own prom dress this year. _

_**...**_

_The leaf peepers will be headed our way soon. Whole busloads of them will empty out and flood the town. You should see them, always looking for the best view or trying to time their visit to view the mountains at their peak color. And they leave with picture postcards and gallon jugs of maple syrup-from last spring of course-and jars of apple butter.  
_

_**...**_

_Thank you for the crate of oranges you sent from Florida. You know how long the winters can be out here. I hope we'll be able to visit you again this summer, but Mitchell is making noise about taking a trip to Vermont instead._

I paged through letter after letter, looking for clues that would tell me when they were written and putting them in order. Not too long into this project, I had the impression that Gran had lived what I would call a normal, pleasant enough kind of life out there in western Massachusetts. Maybe even a little sedate. Oh, they were cheerful enough, and true to her character, she didn't complain. But before I read these letters, I had pictured her doing things like hosting nighttime sledding parties. Building a campfire in the back yard and roasting marshmallows just for fun. Planting messy, crazy gardens full of mismatched flowers. Lighting up birthday cakes with sparklers.

This Gran from western Massachusetts was…well, kinda boring. They lacked that spark that I knew of Gran. Then there was this snippet of a letter, the only portion of it that I could read, and the first clue that there was more.

_I remember you said one time that a life without love is like a year without summer. But what if all we ever knew were fall and winter and spring? Would we miss the summer? _

I abandoned my project of ordering, set down my sorted pile, and just started digging.

_We arrived home safely after an uneventful trip. Please know how hard this is for me. I never expected to be faced with this kind of decision, at least not in a way that would truly test my beliefs. If I decline, it will be out of my moral responsibility to my marriage, and not for lack of dear and passionate love for you._

Test my beliefs…responsibility to my marriage…dear and passionate love for you…

Well, hello! I blushed, realizing what I was uncovering here. If I was looking for a spark, I'd need look no further. Nighttime sledding parties? Boy, did I call that one wrong. It was still hard to believe, but if I was reading this right, Gran had fallen in love with another man outside of her marriage with Grandpa Mitchell. When? How? I'd always thought their marriage strong.

Here I paused, considering carefully. Gran was revealing personal things about herself in ways she might not have ever intended, in ways that were out of her control now. Maybe one day she would have told me, but obviously these letters weren't addressed to me. I'd felt no compunction about reading the ones that read like newsletters from the Stackhouse family's Christmas card. It was quite another thing to read about a secret love life.

_A secret love life. _

We were like soul sisters in a way. Decades apart, here on the Cape, we'd each found our own complicated summer…flings, romances, love connections, or whatever it was that we were calling them. If she were here with me now, I wondered what she'd advise me to do.

Maybe it was that tie I felt with her—the way our love lives seemed to have certain parallels—that made my decision for me. Gran couldn't have known that one day we'd have reason to connect this way, but I felt like she would have shared this part of her past with me if she were here now. Probably not in this way, but…

I think she would have shared it with me.

Maybe my moral reasoning was weak, at best.

In any case, I'd made my decision. Call it selfish, but I needed to glean whatever I could from those letters. I hoped that wherever she was now, she'd understand.

Skimming through a bunch more letters, I finally found this one:

_I am writing this letter to you with great regret. _

_You must know already what I am about to say—that I cannot accept your proposal. I cannot disrupt all of our lives so greatly. Believe me when I say that if I could find a way to take back all the hurt, I would do it in a heartbeat._

_Maybe my other news will help you understand my decision. I am expecting a child in the spring. Please know that after years of trying—and expecting to not ever have children—this brings me great joy as well as pain and regret that I'm not sharing it with you. _

This letter was short and sad, but stapled to it was another letter.

_It was so kind and thoughtful of you to send your congratulations. I had expected that I would need to say goodbye to you even in friendship, but I look forward to becoming an old friend of yours._

_Yes, it was scary going into labor so early. After all of the heartache of waiting to become pregnant, and then getting so close to having a baby, the thought of losing him at a time when I could nearly hold him was unthinkable. He really was our little miracle baby, born almost five weeks early, but as hearty and healthy as if he had been to full term. _

There were some numbers and notes scribbled in the margins of this letter in handwriting that wasn't Gran's. I puzzled over the numbers. It looked like 7 minus 4 and some other scrawling. I turned the paper around in my hands, looking at it from all angles, but nothing made any obvious sense to me.

I set the letters down, my brain oddly frozen in place.

I had a sudden urge to move.

A trip back and forth to the bathroom wasn't going to cut it for me this time. Sure, getting rid of that catheter had been a real treat; I had a new-found appreciation for peeing on my own. But this was the first time since I'd been re-hospitalized that I _really wanted to move_. I still wasn't sure where I was going, or what my purpose would be. I'd figure that out along the way.

After stacking all the letters into a neat pile, I touched my feet tentatively down on the ground.

The moment of truth.

In spite of all those trips to the bathroom, I still wasn't wholly convinced my feet were going to do what they were supposed to do, or more importantly, that the rest of the world was going to cooperate.

Would the floor yank itself out from under me?

No?

We were good?

Okay, then.

E.J.'s little bassinet was nothing more than a plastic box on wheels, inelegant, but totally practical, sturdy, and steadying. I managed to hook my IV pole aside the bassinet without getting the wheels tangled; maybe there was a better way to do all this, but I wasn't about to ask a nurse, who would just tell me to get back in bed.

I poked my head out the door, caught a glimpse of that hulking nurse I called Squirt, and then ducked back inside my room. Squirt had been there with me the first time I had "emptied my bladder," as she liked to call it, and had wielded a very vigorous perineal wash bottle. I like to handle my own squirt bottle, thank you very much.

After another minute, all was clear. I headed out again, but escaped into a little kitchenette area when I heard motion coming from a nearby patient's room. A quick look around this well-equipped space told me I'd been missing out on the party here on the maternity ward. Opening some cabinets, I found a stash of cups and napkins. Though I wasn't really thirsty, I poured myself a glass of water, and added ice from the ice machine.

Inside one of the drawers, I found a good supply of wrapped disposable utensils, tea bags, and packets of sugar, ketchup, mustard, salt, and pepper. The salt-and-pepper packets were a scrambled mess, but it took me only a few minutes to pick through and separate them into their compartments.

There was a clean refrigerator and a microwave too, and next to the microwave was a big basket of individually-wrapped Saltine packets, which didn't interest me too much because I associated them with a queasy stomach. They seemed like a whole heap of trouble too—all those little plastic wrappers that would need to be wrangled just to get two dry, measly crackers. But opening another cupboard door, I found the mother lode: stacks and stacks of graham crackers, which—next to the Saltines—suddenly looked pretty tasty. I grabbed a whole sleeve for myself and tucked them into the bottom of E.J.'s bassinet.

When the motion finally cleared in the hallway, I shuffled out again, noticing for the first time how peaceful it was there, when I wasn't busy evading nurses. The floor was carpeted. The lighting was serene. The walls were painted a rich brown color. And it was surprisingly quiet. I guessed not all babies screamed as much as E.J.. I would have stayed right there wandering the halls if it wouldn't have left me so exposed.

Was there a nice waiting room like this? Probably, but then again, that didn't seem to be the place for me, either. I didn't want to freak out any of the new parents. (Yeah, had the baby a week ago, and then almost bled to death from a late post partum hemorrhage. It was a bitch, but I'm great now. See? No bag of urine.) Likewise, I didn't think it would be too thoughtful of me to complain to the new families who hadn't fared as well, whose moms were still recovering (or not) from a traumatic birth or whose babies were in the neonatal intensive care unit.

No, there probably wasn't exactly a place for me to fit. No special waiting room for the single moms whose ex-boyfriends are mysteriously plotting to screw them out of their homes. Hmph. Maybe I'd have a talk with hospital administrators.

Soon I came to a short hallway that exited into a stairwell. There was a window on one side opposite a door that looked like a closet. It was locked. I might have stayed there just looking out the window if it weren't for the fact that the intersecting hallway seemed to be a busy one. Resignedly, I pushed my way toward the stairwell.

The stairwell, to be sure, was no beautiful setting, with its harsh fluorescent lighting, dingy white paint, and cold industrial tile floors, trudged and gritty. I had a brief bout of panic when a single thought flashed through my mind: what if I lost control of the bassinet and E.J. went tumbling down the stairs? Did all new moms imagine these kinds of perils, or only the ones who seemed peril-prone themselves? To reassure myself, I immediately wheeled E.J. away from the steps—it was actually a wide landing space—and tucked him into a little alcove with a window. There. I had a window view of the parking lot in a quiet spot with a pack of graham crackers. What more could a gal ask for? Above that parking lot, there was even a slice of blue sky. Well, it was kinda blue, where there weren't clouds. No one would intrude to "take a look" at me while I was there. And, oh yeah, E.J. wasn't crying.

Looking down at him, I noticed that I wasn't just imagining it: his cheeks really _had_ filled out. I decided at that moment that they were the _cutest_ _cheeks ever, _so adorable that I would have to refrain from pinching them. Surely none of the other little babies in the nursery had those pudgy cheeks, summer sky eyes, and crazy hair—the trifecta of cuteness. I looked around automatically, but of course nobody else was there. I was in a stairwell, having my own little proud mom moment all by myself.

I opened the pack of graham crackers for an impromptu picnic and started crunching away. Gran's voice popped immediately back into my head, as though she'd never gone anywhere. I felt relieved.

_She was still Gran. _

I still loved her. There was no black mark on her soul that made me think any different about her. Sure, the fact that she'd had an affair was surprising. I worried a little about Grandpa Mitchell. And I wondered whether there was a whole middle section of Gran's life when she'd been happy with Grandpa Mitchell and my dad and Aunt Linda, but not in a place where she really belonged. None of that mattered, though, when it came to my overall feelings about her. She was still the same Gran to me.

One thing was still puzzling, though. What had motivated Fintan to keep in touch with her for more than a decade after she had rejected him? Clearly he continued to carry a torch for her. Why else would he have saved her letters? They ended up together, after Grandpa Mitchell had died, but Fintan couldn't have predicted that outcome. There was no mention in the letters of their ever getting back together again, other than visits during their summer vacations to the Cape. He might have tormented himself with an entire lifetime of unrequited love had things not worked out the way they did. There must have been something else.

What was it with that letter that had been stapled to the Dear John letter? That one was gnawing at me. It was the only stapled letter, and the only one I'd come across so far with any other notes on it. 7 – 4. Seven minus four is three. Three what? Three peas in a pod. Three sides to a triangle. Three wheels on a tricycle. Three…this was getting me nowhere.

7 – 4. Was it a date? July 4th? Maybe. But why would it matter? July 4th was always spent in North Dormer, if my dad's stories about fireworks were true. They always went to the Cape later in the month. July was the 7th month. April was the 4th month. My dad and Aunt Linda had birthdays in April. I hadn't known how unusual that was, given that he should have been born in May. It was lucky for all of us that he'd been such a healthy, sturdy baby. Five weeks seemed pretty early to me. Three weeks early might not have surprised me so much, as normal gestation is anywhere from 37 – 40 weeks. But didn't some important lung development happen there at the end? I would have thought that even a couple extra weeks earlier than 37 weeks could have been a problem, especially back then when preemie care wasn't as advanced as it is now…So I guess my dad had been especially healthy and lucky…unless…

Unless…Gran had gotten her dates wrong…

Sweet Jesus! What if he really hadn't been born early? I ticked the months off on my fingers. From July to April was nine months. What if her real due date was in April? That would mean that it was entirely possible that Fintan was my dad's father. My grandfather.

I let this thought settle. Or stir things up. Or whatever it was doing in my head. I wasn't sure.

Maybe Fintan had suspected, and that's why he had kept in touch. What about Gran? Had she suspected too? Or, geez, how about Grandpa Mitchell? Gran had mentioned that she'd had a hard time getting pregnant. Had they just accepted the pregnancy for all of the joy it had brought them without questioning it too hard? And good grief, what about Aunt Linda? Could she be Fintan's too? No wonder Grandpa Mitchell had been making noise about going to Vermont for vacation. He was probably starting to wonder whether there was something in the water on the Cape.

I shook my head. I'd had a drink of that Cape water myself.

How had Gran managed to sneak away for a romantic tryst with Fintan? I shook my head again. Some things felt wrong imagining.

And some things would never be known.

There was no way for me to figure this one out with certainty. Oh sure, there were clues that pointed in a particular direction, but the bottom line was this: _I would never know for sure_. I decided then and there that it simply didn't matter to me. It had been their business, and it didn't change how I felt about any of them. And it was out of my control. No matter how badly I might have wanted to know, there was no way to know.

I was done there.

I looked down, suddenly realizing that I had polished off an entire sleeve of graham crackers. Poor E.J. was covered in crumbs. They jumped like fleas and resettled in his blankets as I swiped at them. I would have to remove him from the bassinet and turn the whole blasted thing upside down to get rid of them all, which wouldn't be happening anytime soon. I had another one of those brief flashes of panic—that E.J. would choke or have some kind of allergic reaction to one of those crumbs—which I quelled by making sure nothing was around his face. The rest of them would just have to stay for now.

Then I noticed there were parts of me that were starting to throb in pain, and that I had probably overdone my little stairwell excursion. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get back through the door and into the hallway since I was feeling so tired and sore. Still, I felt a little jolt of excited glee when I successfully dodged Squirt once again. I realized I didn't need to skulk anymore, so I took the shortest route back, straight down the middle of the corridor.

That's where I ran nearly straight into Nurse Smith, who always seemed to be cropping up when I needed her most. (Some people are great that way, you know?) She helped me back to my room, checked me out, and got me resettled and comfortable. I fed E.J. and then took a nap with him for a little while, before picking the letters up again and rifling through them, somewhat aimlessly.

It was my own name that captured my attention on one of them.

_Clearly there are still some troubles here, so I'm glad I took some time to come out for another visit. Sookie got in trouble at school today for being "fresh" with her teacher, Miss Royall. Apparently Sookie told her that she shouldn't waste any more time with Mr. Harney—I guess he's another teacher—because Mr. Harney has his eyes on Miss Balch. _

_Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it were true. I can just see it in her eyes—the way she watches people around her like a hawk. _

Immediately, I teared up and felt ill-at-ease, like I needed to crouch low and ready. Maybe because I was geared up this way, something about the next letter jumped out at me before I could even stop it. It was only one word, a name: _Bartlett_. _Uncle Bartlett._ His name leapt off the page, flashing itself right in front of my face. I could hear Gran say his name with that grim set to her mouth.

His hands had touched.

I'd worked hard at pushing that particular memory outside of myself, where I'd thought it couldn't touch me. But just the reminder of him made me feel his hands all over again. That was the most awful thing about it, really—that I would always know his hands and the gnashing and churning inside. My heart pounded hard and heavy, harassed by that panicky, vulnerable feeling that comes from someone's knowing me in a way I don't want them to. Out of my control.

For a brief moment, I wanted to rip that letter to shreds and throw it away forever. If I thought it would have helped, I would have done it. I wished I could. Oh, I'd already done a whole world of wishing it away. I'd even tried making some scary bargains with God. But God doesn't play "Would You Rather…"

The thing about memories, too, is that the ones you try hardest to forget are the same ones that come back and bite you in the ass most viciously. You can't ever really forget the ferocious ones. Sometimes they sneak up from behind, and sometimes they flat out flaunt themselves. Relentlessly. The best I could figure to do was to acknowledge them. To accept them for what they would always be. Maybe that was the only way I'd ever be able to feel as though they weren't controlling me. Maybe that was just wishful thinking too.

I guessed I'd sat there with that letter long enough feeling sorry for myself. At least I didn't do anything fruitless, like tearing it up. No, I didn't want to waste any more energy on it if I could help it. Instead, I folded it up, and folded it up again and again until it was just a tidy little square, tucked it in the bottom of the big envelope, and then stuffed all the other letters on top. That was the best I could do right then.

And that's all I'm saying.

* * *

**A/N: **Summer has finally given us a big, sloppy kiss here in New England, which means that now's about the time of the year when a) the call of my garden is too wild to resist *raises itchy green thumb,* b) the wild call of my children released from school can't be ignored, and c) Mr. MNM and I leave town with said wild-calling children, journey for many hours in a small car, and end up in even wilder environs, with (gasp) no Internet connection.

So...what's my point here? Well, somehow, in the middle of all of this wildness, my sanity is, eh, usually mostly restored, and I'll probably post the next update sometime during the week after July 4.

Hope all of you US-ians have a whiz-bang July 4th. Well, I suppose it will be July 4th everywhere else too, so I'll just go ahead and wish everyone a whiz-bang day.** ;)**

**~Thanks for reading!~**

And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!


	17. Newbie

**Recap of Previous Chapter:** While Sookie recovers in the hospital, she reads through old letters from Gran to Fintan and learns of their long-standing affair, which calls into question her lineage. She stumbles over coping with memories of Uncle Bartlett's abuse.

**Disclaimer:** All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris.

* * *

Chapter 17: **Newbie**

I stayed in the hospital with E.J. for nearly a week, resting and recovering like I was on a bona fide spa vacation. When I wasn't dozing or feeding E.J., I spent a lot of time shuffling through Gran's letters, ordering, making sense of her story, and fitting it all together—the good, the bad, and the ugly—like a puzzle. I loved all of her, from sky to sea—the picturesque scenery as well as the blunders and disasters. She gave me courage and hope that I'd be able to snap in the raw edges and dark corners that were part of my own puzzle. I felt them starting to shift into place.

I didn't always like having them there.

Of course, my feet hit the ground running the minute I was discharged.

For starters, there was my home. Amelia had wrangled a good deal out of the plumber, through her father's connections, and Jason had pitched in too, doing some of the retiling and dry-walling himself to save even more money. It didn't look too pretty, which fit right in with that quirky quality I'd always loved about my home. And every time I looked at the patched walls and tile running amok, I was reminded of the people who had pitched in to help when I'd needed it. On the other hand, this pipe-bursting fiasco had opened my eyes to a deeper set of structural problems in my home that I couldn't ignore anymore. For instance, I'd have to start looking into that dry rot problem Eric had mentioned. Ignoring that sort of thing doesn't just make it go away.

All in all, the general theme seemed to be that my home wasn't as sturdy and secure as I'd once thought it to be. In addition to figuring out how to manage necessary repairs, I needed to start thinking about what kinds of plans Lorena Ball might be making to develop the property around me. With a bit of online research into local zoning ordinances and key board players, I realized I was looking at a big, nasty, tangled political web that could very well trap me, if it would have me at all. I'd need an inside person to help me figure it out…someone such as L.L.. He likely had more information that would be helpful.

There was also a slew of other money worries. Hospital bills, I was sure, would be rolling in soon. I tried not to think about that too hard, knowing how little my crappy health insurance would probably cover. And, of course, E.J. was an expensive little guy. I did what I could to help, like applying for WIC and using the cheap diapers from Smaht Maht (which unfortunately caused a whole other set of laundry issues). But the real killer was having to hire a nanny, Octavia, so that I would be able to go back to work. Somehow it didn't feel right calling her a nanny. Nannies were people who worked for rich folk, with lots of discretionary income, which clearly I didn't have. I _barely_ scraped it together through the help of Amelia's rental income and "paying" Octavia for some of her services in room and board.

But having Amelia and Octavia around reminded me of all of the ways that my home brought security too, and not just in financial ways. With them there, it felt as though my home had given birth to an entire family, nontraditional, but loving in its own way. Amelia came and went frequently, between her classes and working at the diner, but she joined us for meals whenever she could. Octavia fussed over E.J. and me in a grandmotherly way, plucking him out of my arms when it looked like I needed a break, and pacing the floor with him endlessly when the only thing that would soothe him was motion.

Without a doubt, E.J. was the star of the show. The little guy had me hooked, though I felt more tired than I ever knew possible. The sheer constancy was brutal. At times I felt like nothing more than a glorified vending machine. But then he'd snag me with another one of his little treats—a crooked smile, a flap of the arms, a sweet cuddle—and I'd be had all over again. For all of the relentless ways he demanded my attention, his little rewards would power me through the next sleepless night.

Before I knew it, May 1 was upon us. Leaf buds pushed themselves out on their limbs after a teasing, warm prelude, and then clung there waiting, for what I didn't know. The anticipation was killing me. I felt a little spring-like, myself, a little concerned that summer would barrel right over me. Last year, I'd been so sure I could stand up to its heat, even welcomed and reveled in it. But I'd been burned.

I hadn't forgotten about Eric. I still believed he needed to know about E.J., but where things would go between us seemed a lot less certain than they did a month ago. Great Love? I rolled my eyes and scoffed at myself—sank my head into my hands—for how naïve I'd been, at how I'd underestimated our difficulties. Since learning about Leclerq, I realized, I needed to go back to my initial instincts with him: I'd need to protect myself and proceed with caution. What would develop, if anything, was yet to be seen. Oh, the physical draw, no doubt, would be there. Deep feelings of caring and affection and commitment—alongside the dark stuff—would be new territory for us.

That "train wreck" kind of feeling started to leave me at about the time Octavia drove me in for my six-week follow-up with Dr. Ludwig. I convinced her to take the car and run some errands for herself. In turn, she convinced me to leave E.J. with her so I could stop by the diner and say hello.

The smells and sounds of the diner blasted me as soon as I opened the door.

* * *

"_Go tell it on the Mountain," Sam sang, rubbing my belly. I'd managed to squeeze into last year's holiday tee only because I'd covered the exposed parts of The Mountain with a fur-trimmed Santa coat, and then held the whole shebang together with a black leather belt. _

_Sam was in his usual giddy spirit at Christmas time, darting about the kitchen in his own ridiculous Santa jester hat. Arlene, still pissed from having gotten up at the crack of dawn to stand in line for three hours, only to miss out on today's "hot toy deal" at the Smaht Maht, slammed through the kitchen doors griping about the table decorations, "If I have to wipe ketchup off those plastic poinsettias one more time, Sam…" Her threat hovered, ignored._

_Per usual, Sam had decked the halls the day after Thanksgiving, gearing up for his favorite time of the year, the business season, when North Dormer's still vibrant downtown shopping district brought in a new wave of customers. But if anyone questioned Sam's true Christmas spirit, he'd point to the hat-and-mitten tree by the front door, or the stacks of toys headed to a local charity, or to the canned food drive bin by the register. I guessed I'd call him an altruistic businessman._

_Out in the diner, people were still talking about the parachuting Santa, a long-standing annual tradition that I had never understood. (Why would Santa need a parachute?) In any case, the tradition had probably finally run its course, after this year's parachuting Santa missed his mark—the football field—and crashed into a glass storefront about a half mile away. Luckily enough, he only broke a leg and only a few people witnessed it._

_I pulled up a stool and took a load off, relieved that the annual Christmas Eve Eve party was winding down. _

_Holly breezed into the kitchen, holding a tray of half-full salt-and-pepper shakers. The sounds of karaoke music breached the kitchen, the volume alternating with the swing of the kitchen doors._

"_Whose awful singing is that?" Arlene looked up from counting her tip money._

"_That would be William." Holly looked directly at me._

_If I had been drinking anything at the time, I would have spewed it across the room. L.L. wasn't one to put on a performance, at least not intentionally. Sure, he'd shocked us all with his moonwalk at Arlene's third wedding, dancing surprisingly well for someone who was normally so stiff. But after the initial round of laughter and applause, everyone quieted uncomfortably as they realized the only way he pulled it off so well was that he had actually practiced it._

_The singing he had not practiced. L.L. had taken up the microphone and was crooning "Blue Christmas" in his hangdog, just-broke-up-with Selah voice. Clearly he'd been to Murphy's, the bar down the street before he'd come here. _

_Then everyone was looking at me. _

"_All right, all right. I'll go get him," I sighed, knowing I'd be stuck with an inebriated L.L.. "Anything else you need me to do, Sam, before I save this party from a moonwalking Elvis?" _

"_We're all set." Sam took another lap around the kitchen to say goodbye, singing Go Tell It on the Mountain one more time and taking liberties with my belly._

"_That ain't no immaculate conception, Sam," Arlene snickered._

"_It's not a joke!"_

_The kitchen fell silent. Dead silent. Lafayette, who had been cleaning the grill turned toward us, pointing at The Mountain. "I don't know what you think is so funny. It's not a joke." _

_Though Lafayette was speaking, everyone was looking at me, waiting for my response. Standing there in my Santa coat, I'd never felt so singled out. _

_Or furious. _

_The problem was I didn't know who to be mad at most—Lafayette or everyone else. A lightning speed, snarky comeback was what I was grasping for, but—cripes—in my anger, the tears were coming, and all I could manage was a lame, "I don't know what the big deal is here." _

_That was the truth, actually._

_So I followed it up with a stammering, "I…I guess I'll go get Elvis Jackson, then." _

_Hmph, I thought. I should send L.L. back to the kitchen for an encore. Let them deal with him. But instead, I pushed through the kitchen doors as the words "facing the music" popped into my head._

* * *

The smell hit me the hardest, socked me in the gut with the mingled aroma of coffee, grease, and baked beans that only comes from Sam's diner. I'd worn that smell home, deep in my pores. With one whiff of that smell, I felt transported back in time. Overall, things hadn't changed here.

But I had.

Immediately, I felt discombobulated.

There were the usual suspects. Codfish and Jason were just on their way out. "I'll bring back that coffee thermos I borrowed last week," Jay called over his shoulder. Andy Bellefleur was having lunch with Halleigh, their bodies leaned toward each other in an intimate way. Interesting. Arlene was prowling the back counter with a coffee pot. Holly and Dawn appeared to be the only two other servers on duty at the time. Holly waved, a big smile on her face, as she stopped by a table to take an order. Among the diners, the big buzz of the day seemed to be about the slutwalk that had just been staged in Boston.

Sure, I could plunk myself back down in this scene, notepad in hand—I didn't have a choice, really—but there was no doubt that how I fit in here would never be the same again.

I scanned the diner again, looking to see if I had any meal guests.

Denise Rattray.

Denise and I had had an uncomfortable relationship in the past. She'd come in periodically for a meal, always mum about her problems, though I'd suspected that Mack was beating up on her. On a good day, I'd call her demeanor prickly at best.

Today, Denise looked like she always did, dressed in flashy clothes—tight leather pants, scuffed, ultra high-heeled pumps, a tight-fitting long-sleeve patterned tee, and lots of jewelry that clattered when she moved. Her nails, once manicured with fancy designs and rhinestones, were now chipped and missing half their tips. It was the kind of dress that distinguished her from everyone else, saying "I want your attention" and "Don't bother me" all at once.

I was very surprised when she caught my eye and waved me over. She motioned for me to sit, which made me wonder if she was going to complain about something again.

"You had the baby."

"Yep. He's six weeks old now."

Denise was crumbling a whole pack of oyster crackers into her clam chowder, stirring it into a mortar-like mixture. I wondered whether to say anything else about E.J.. Some people didn't really care to hear about him; they were only being polite asking. Though I doubted Denise cared enough to be polite, I didn't think she wanted to hear about E.J. either.

I wished I had my Big Book of Everything in my hands. Oh, I knew there was no magic solution tucked into those well-worn pages, but old habits die hard, and I sure did wish I could pull a fix or two out of there, like a card from the local battered women's shelter or a survivor's support group. Yes, deep down, I wished I could fix something.

She looked up from her clam chowder. "You're awfully quiet, for once."

I laughed and then scrambled for a response. "I was just thinking about how some things never change. You know?"

Denise turned to look behind herself, toward the direction that I was looking. What she noticed, I'd never know, but turning back, she laughed genuinely, startling me with the way it changed her face. For the briefest of moments she seemed to be enjoying herself until a wince of pain crossed her face, followed by a mean sneer.

People reveal things about themselves—they leak—in ways most don't even realize. What's more, most of us don't even notice those leaks. But I suspected that having to be on guard so much around Mack, Denise wasn't like most people. She knew what she'd conveyed to me in that blink of a moment.

"And some people are just as nosey as they always were."

We probably had more in common than we'd ever know for sure, but we were done with each other right then and maybe forever too. I figured even a "See you 'round," or a "Take care" would have been too much, so instead I stood up, making an excuse about needing to see Sam. Walking away from her, I scanned the diner, wondering how many of us in here were bearing similar scars and wounds we'd never bare to each other for all kinds of reasons. Silence is self-protective; it's also hard and lonely sometimes.

* * *

_The cold December air sobered up my moonwalking Elvis by a notch or two. _

"_Lemme know if I need to pull over, okay?" Vomit was not another problem I wanted to deal with in my car. I tucked the seatbelt under The Mountain and headed for home._

_We made it all the way there, to the front walk, before he threw up…all over the front of his clothes. _

_I sighed, tugging him inside and leading him to the bathroom. "Throw your clothes in this bag and I'll wash them for you." Then I got out a new toothbrush and a set of towels and offered him a shower._

_While L.L. cleaned himself up, I sat down, looking for an elusive comfortable position that would relieve my sore back and feet. Waitressing wasn't exactly the best profession for a pregnant woman. Before I could stop myself, my mind immediately wandered back to Lafayette's outburst. I rubbed my forehead, still confused and uncertain about what it had all meant, but feeling like my brain was on the cusp of something. Had he been trying to protect me from their jokes? Was he mad at me? Did he think I wasn't taking my pregnancy seriously enough? It was a very unsettling feeling not being sure whether he'd meant to help me or cut me down. In any case, I didn't appreciate being put on display, especially by someone I'd considered my friend. Plus it wasn't anybody's effing business what I did in my personal life. I thought I'd done a damn good job of keeping it separate from work. If anyone else had a problem with my pregnancy, well...that was his or her problem. Not mine. _

_I decided I'd settled the matter for myself.  
_

_L.L. emerged, holding a bag of clothes, looking steadier on his feet, but visibly shivering in his towel. I realized I should have been rounding up some clothes for him. Maybe Jason had left some behind in one of the spare rooms, but I wasn't sure I had any more energy to try to look._

"_There's a robe hanging on the back of the door you can use." It was pink, but anything was better than his current state of undress. I started to get up, rethought it, and then called out, "Could you handle starting up the washer?" I soon heard the clank of metal and running water._

_He joined me on the couch then, dressed in that ridiculous fluffy pink robe and smelling like my favorite lavender-mint body wash. The two of us made quite a pair. _

"_Bad night, huh?" He turned toward me._

"_I'm sorry to hear about Selah."_

_He looked startled. "Oh, right. Yeah, thanks. Sorry about this."_

_I realized he'd been talking about me, not him._

_He pressed on. "You seemed upset when we left the diner."_

"_It was nothing." Suddenly I was feeling really uncomfortably hot sitting here in red and white fake fur. I pulled off the Santa coat and made a vain attempt at tugging down my Ho, Ho, Ho! t-shirt. Giving up, my hands busied themselves with coiling my ponytail into a neat bun at the nape of my neck._

"_Can you feel the baby moving yet?"_

"_Sure." _

"_You can?" His eyes lit up._

"_Mm-hmm. He usually starts up as soon as I sit down. I think when I walk, the motion lulls him to sleep. And when I stop, he wakes up and moves."_

"_Can I feel him? Her?"_

"_I don't know what it is. I just call it 'he.' And sure."_

_No one else, not even Dr. Ludwig, had felt the baby move. Sure, strangers had reached out to pat The Mountain, but no one had been there with me marveling over the movement. _

_Inside me. Another person. Alive. Growing to be born._

_At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to share it with someone who cared. I reached for his hand, placing it on the side where some limb or hand or foot or head or rump was swiping at that moment. I could never tell what was what. It always just felt like my insides were reorganizing._

_L.L. quieted and stilled, as though he could sense the baby moving with every part of his body. He smiled, warm and wistful, and then catching my eye with a tentative look, he placed his other hand on me too. _

_I sank back all the way, resting my head against the back of the sofa, and scooted down a bit to get comfortable, spreading my knees open. Emboldened, L.L. shifted too, kneeling in front of me between my thighs. Looking at my belly, he gasped when the baby moved again. "I can see it too!"_

_I laughed. It had surprised me too, the first time I had seen it; it had never occurred to me that I'd be able to watch the same ripple of movement I felt from the inside. "My belly is like one giant amoeba."_

_L.L.'s hands started stroking across my shifting belly, following the movement. The look on his face changed—tensed—as the moment between us prickled. And then I was leaning forward toward him, and when I got close, I hoped he knew that if he looked up, my lips would be ready for his. I closed my eyes, as though making a wish and shutting out the rest of the world all at once, and drew in a long, hard breath, but before my lungs filled, his mouth was on mine, and then I was drawing him in too, and I was sliding forward, toward the edge of the sofa, and arching my body against his—arms around shoulders, swollen breasts against chest, taut womb against bands of muscle. I was different, but I could still fit myself against another person. _

_L.L.'s movements changed, his mouth traveling down my neck and his hands leaving my belly for my breasts, and then back to my belly for me, the broad expanse of me. All of me. I felt brand new all over again in this dinged body, good in my own skin with the reassurance of his hands and mouth covering over me, fixing newness in place once more. I still worked. I still desired. I was still desirable. I could have cried out for that comfort I'd been missing for so many long, lonely months. _

_A sudden jolt from my belly stopped both of us. I gasped. _

"_What was that? Are you all right?" Alarm sounded in L.L.'s voice. His hands had stilled and planted themselves firmly on The Mountain._

_It happened again._

_I was worried. "It sounds crazy, but it feels like he has the hiccups. Do you think that's possible? Or do you think something's wrong?" _

_L.L.'s mouth had hardened into a thin line. The robe had been shed from his shoulders, but was still tied around his waist. When he stood, I barely registered the tent that had obviously formed. _

"_Should I look in the baby book?" I didn't know whether to spend the time looking or to just call the doctor._

"_Where is it?" He was heading for the bookshelf._

"_No, it's in the magazine rack, right there under the end table."_

_L.L. bent down to pick it up and then handed it to me. The jolt happened again. I rifled through it in panic mode, ready to just throw it across the room in my state._

_He took it back from me, flipping to the end, then paging forward. "It says here that fetal hiccups are common, especially in the last half of pregnancy."_

"_Does it say what it would feel like?"_

"_Like a little spasm, probably just like that. Do you want to call the doctor to check?"_

_I settled back and waited. "Would you put your hands back?"_

_He slid a foot stool over to the sofa, sat down with his feet propped up, and then pulled my head down to his lap. His arm stretched down to my belly as I curled to my side. After another minute of anticipated waiting, another jolt happened. _

"_That has to be hiccups, right?" I looked up at L.L., who was smiling._

"_Sookie, if that isn't the hiccups, then I'll eat a plate of macaroni salad. Want me to scare him?"_

"_I think that robe's doing the trick."_

_He jostled me. "That reminds me." He got up to put his clothes in the dryer, and came back to his position on the sofa, pulling an afghan down over me. I reached for his hand and held it atop The Mountain. We slept there like that for the rest of the night._

* * *

Sam was sitting at his desk, raking his hands through his hair, going over his taxes, which once again had been extended. I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk as he leaned away from his computer.

"Why don't I just hire a tax person to do this?"

"I don't know, because you say that every quarter."

"Well then tell me something new, Sookie." He walked around his desk, taking the seat next to mine and scooting it around to face me. "How are things?" His hand reached out to tap the corner of my chair.

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, surprising me with their immediacy. He looked startled too. "I'm not sure where I fit anymore," I blurted out. The more I thought about it, I realized I wasn't sad or happy or angry or any one thing. I was…all of it. Emotional.

"I'd tell you there's always a place for you here if I thought it would help." He was leaning closer now, so close I could smell him. Amazingly, after half a day in the diner, behind the grill, here at his computer, probably even out at the dumpsters and God knows where else, he still smelled like Sam—a combination of bar soap, toothpaste, and fabric softener layered over the warm, musky scent of his skin.

He leaned even closer, or maybe I leaned toward him, or at least it seemed we were closer to each other. I could smell him even more strongly. I took all of him in with a deep breath that filled my lungs and my belly. Maybe if I leaned forward just a little more, I thought, he'd wrap his arms around me, draw me into him, and then I would know again. It had been too long since I'd felt a welcome touch, and I could only imagine just how my cheek would feel pressed against his worn t-shirt against his solid chest.

There was a whole lot of imagining going on in my head, but one thing's for sure: I didn't imagine the heat from his lips once they touched mine. Holy smokes. And I didn't imagine the surprising softness of his rumpled, wiry-looking golden red hair. That's where my fingers had found themselves, first smoothing, but then twining in the rakish mess. And I didn't imagine the way his arms finally did wrap around me, or the way his fingers gripped the back of my bare neck, beneath my ponytail, or the way his other hand splayed across my side, at my ribs, or even the way his thumb wandered a little, grazing my breast. And I certainly didn't imagine the way both of his hands slipped and skimmed and slid down. I could barely stop myself from twisting and turning beneath his hands, coaxing and stretching his touch as far as it would reach, over every rough patch in need of smoothing, over every deadened, numb spot in need of awakening. Down, down, down his hands traveled, stopping finally at the flare of my hips, right where Eric used to like.

And that's where things came to a sudden halt.

Oh, it had felt good, for all of the reasons a lover's touch should feel good and then some. I won't deny it or say in any way that I thought I was wrong to crave or even to have it.

But there were some things I wanted that _no one_ could give me, and other things I wanted that I knew I couldn't get in this way. How to pull it all together was beyond me at that moment. All I knew was that for as good as his touch had felt, it wasn't everything. It took damn near all of my strength and courage to pull back.

"Shit, Sookie. I'm sorry."

"My fault too." I didn't think I could form a complete sentence at that moment, but still, I managed to add, "_I'm _sorry." I looked away from him, blinking back more tears and wishing his smell weren't so overpowering. I couldn't help but think that I'd be feeling a hell of a lot better right then if his hands were back on my body—mending, renewing, exhilarating, freeing…

And then cold, hard reality sobered me up. Whatever strangeness had just happened between us didn't matter. It didn't matter what I _wanted_. What I really _needed_, if nothing else, was a job. And Sam was my boss, not to mention a good friend too.

I pulled up straight in my chair. "I really need to come back to work. I got the okay."

"Whenever you're ready." Sam seemed uncomfortable enough with what had passed between us to go along with my game of moving on and pretending it had never happened.

I nodded.

"I'll put you in next week's schedule. How many hours?"

"As many as you've got."

"Sookie…"

"Money's tight, Sam."

So it was settled. I was all set to go back to work.

And what's more, I realized, I was ready to start looking for Eric.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi, folks! *waves* I'm back from the wilds, and happy to be among Internet-connected people once again. ;)

Getting down to business, here...about those two "non-Eric" kisses...Generally I don't like to say anything to sway opinion down here, but in this case, I think I'll mention a few points:

(1) Eric and Sookie are not together as a couple when those kisses happen.  
(2) I think Sookie says pretty clearly what those kisses mean to her.  
(3) While the first kiss, with L.L., is interrupted by a little hiccup in the action, she stops the one with Sam herself.  
(4) In the end, she says that she's ready to start looking for Eric, and that means more to her than just finding where he's been "hiding out" all these months.

I'll also say this: Eric _has not_ been getting tips from Boston mob boss Whitey Bulger, who managed to stay on the lam for over a decade. I have a feeling things are going to start to move pretty quickly-in the story's timeline, that is-though my summertime updates will still be slower to come. _Thanks to everyone who's stuck out this story with me from the beginning, as well as to everyone who's picked it up recently. _;)

~And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!~


	18. Visiting

**Recap of Previous Chapter: **Discharged from the hospital, Sookie gets back on her feet taking care of E.J., her home, and finances; and making sense of Gran's love affair with Fintan. After a visit to the diner brings her up close and personal with Sam, she realizes she is ready to start looking for Eric.

**Disclaimer: **All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

* * *

Chapter 18: **Visiting**

As I was making my way out of the diner, Arlene snagged me at the counter. "How's that little guy of yours doing?"

I stopped and took a deep breath. A certain tone in her voice told me that what she was really asking was, "Tell me all the ways that E.J. is making your life miserable."

I could have taken her bait. After all, it would have been easy enough to share a true-life story about how much E.J. was still waking up at night. Or how much he cried. Or how _loudly_ he cried. (Sheez.) She would have listened with great fascination, I'm sure, and then she probably would have softened, sharing a story about how many times Lisa had the croup, or something like that. After that little bit of mom bonding, I could have been on my way.

But, you know, after my, uh…_encounter _with Sam, I was feeling a little sore and cranky myself.

Also—truth be told—I wanted to brag a little.

From my purse, I pulled an accordion-style display of E.J. photos. They flapped open into a whole yard of good angles and happy times. These were the favored ones I myself would go to when his real face was a color I'd call splotchy-red-purple. These were the ones that helped keep the tough times in check.

I spread them out on the counter in front of us and almost immediately got sucked in. There he was propped up in his bouncy seat, with his perfectly round belly sticking out. And there he was with his fist in his mouth. That one there was the first smile I'd ever caught with a camera. (I swear it was a smile, and not just gas.) And there he was, drooling on my shoulder, posed in a way that showed off his crazy hair. I realized, wistfully, that I didn't have too many of the two of us.

Holly leaned over my shoulder. "Sookie, he's adorable! It's a good thing he's not here or I'd pinch those cheeks."

I grinned for real, and before I knew it, I was gushing too. "Oh! I know! I can't stop myself sometimes!"

Then Holly said something that almost made me swoon. "But it's the hair. He's got the cutest, wildest mop of hair I've ever seen on a baby. Like a fuzzy porcupine."

Maybe even a squeal escaped from me. I was a goner, lost in a surge of female hormones. Before I even knew what was happening, Holly and I were swapping mom stories like old friends.

Jeez, was this what new moms were supposed to do? I needed to get myself some more of this kind of action—get out a little more—'cuz I was a little embarrassed to admit it, but it was kinda fun.

Maybe we went too far commiserating over our double electric breast pumps.

"Stretched my nipples this long!" Holly held up her fingers to demonstrate.

I looked around, suddenly aware that people were cutting a wide swath around us. We hushed, but then burst out laughing again.

"A good dose of formula will make him sleep through the night. Worked like a charm for my two." Arlene, hovering nearby, stepped into the conversation.

"Oh, not for me," Holly countered. "Gave mine such bad gas he was up all night crying. Tried it only once, and that was enough."

I could practically see the red glow in Arlene's eyes. We were starting to get into that dangerous territory of breastfeeding versus formula, fertile grounds for unwarranted nastiness among otherwise grown, mature women. The clean-up crew was long overdue. "I guess it's true what they say about every child being different. It's just a matter of figuring it out." I'd offered it up genuinely, but I could see by the look on Arlene's face that things had gone too far.

"Better watch out, though. If you don't support your girls well enough, before you know it, they'll be grazing your knees. Pilates worked miracles for me too." She patted at her own trim midsection.

"Is that how you toned up so fast, Arlene?" Holly jumped in.

"Mm-hmm." Arlene responded absently. She had picked up the photos and was holding them up and looking back and forth between the pictures and me. "Well, he's got your fair coloring, but his eyes are a little bit lighter than yours. Course that could change. It sometimes does, you know."

Holly looked away and grabbed at a few straw paper bits floating around on the counter. Arlene was clearly treading into who's-the-daddy territory.

"Only time will tell," I countered blithely.

"Of course." She smiled brightly and folded up the photos. "Listen, when you get the go-ahead, I'll give you my Pilates instructor's name. You never know when tall, blonde, and handsome is going to walk in here again."

That gave me pause. I looked at her. Did she mean Eric? Jeez, I knew Arlene could be jealous, but I'd no clue how strong and deep her feelings went if she'd been hanging onto them for so long. Eric hadn't been in here in a year. Surely she didn't mean him. I looked at her quizzically.

"Oh, come on. There's only one man _that_ tall and blonde and handsome who _ever _strode into this diner. Drives a Corvette. You know who I mean."

"That was over a year ago. April Fools' Day."

Her face turned positively delighted. "A year ago?" She chuckled. "No, ma'am. He came in here when you were in the hospital. The second time."

I waited. Arlene would spill this story and relish every moment, without any prompting from me. I worked hard to turn my face impassive, but I'm sure my surprise was leaking out.

"Amelia talked to him. I'm surprised she didn't give you the message." She picked up a stack of menus and slid them into a pocket by the cash register. "And I'm guessing by the look on your face that he never found you."

"Then it's a good thing I wasn't holding my breath," I snapped.

I turned away from her and strode out of the diner, not sure who to be sore at most: Arlene, Amelia, or Eric. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the thought that popped into my mind was that while Sam and I were pawing all over each other, I'd forgotten to ask him about how I was going to manage a pumping schedule during my work hours at the diner. Now _there_ was a truly complicated quandary.

Amelia came breezing in right before dinner, when E.J. was fussing and I was trying to cook. Octavia and I had played pass-the-cranky-baby while we took turns chopping salads until she finally gave up and took him outside for a change of scenery, away from "the goods." Amelia pitched in to help. I chopped faster.

I didn't know if this was the best time or not, but with a baby, you take whatever you can get whenever.

"Why didn't you give me the message that Eric stopped by at the diner asking for me?"

Amelia looked a little frightened, and then immediately her eyes filled. "I'm sorry. I got myself in a jam, and then I didn't know what to do."

"For starters, you could have said, 'Sookie, Eric came into the diner looking for you.'"

"I might have blurted out a little more than I should have to him."

I stopped chopping.

"I said that you were still in the hospital, but you were okay…"

"Mm-hmm…" I waved my hand impatiently because I could hear the tenor of E.J.'s crying change for the worse. I was still holding a knife.

Her words poured out so fast I could barely understand her. "And I said something about the baby being okay too. He looked so surprised that I realized I had said too much. I was only trying to help."

_Did she just say what I thought she just said?_ "Hold on there. Did you tell Eric about the baby?"

She cringed visibly.

There was only one possible look coming out of my eyes right then, and it was a glare.

"It just blurted out. I wasn't thinking."

"Yeah, you could say that," blurted right out of _my_ mouth.

Amelia looked like she was about to say something else, but abruptly clammed up.

I sat down to think, only that wasn't going to do me any good. So then I stood up and moved back to the counter to gather all of the vegetable scraps into a bowl to take out to the composter. Then I got out a stack of plates and handed them to Amelia wordlessly. She got busy setting the table while I wiped at the counter. And when I was done with that, I wiped at a spot of dried milk that had crusted on my shirt.

I had never told Amelia directly that Eric is E.J.'s father, though I'm sure she'd guessed it. I tried to put myself in her shoes. If Eric had come into the diner looking for Amelia, would I have said anything about a baby? Nope. Definitely not, but I could see how that sort of thing would have blurted out of Amelia's mouth. I probably would have said something like, "I'll be sure to let her know that you stopped by." Even better would have been something like, "Could I get your contact info so she can get in touch with you?" That would have been a real gem. And then, _for sure_, I would have passed on the message.

Yes, that was the real issue here. She didn't tell me. _Four or five weeks ago._

The urge to slam something was coming over pretty hard. I did all that I could to keep from exploding. "I'm feeling angry that you didn't tell me."

"You stopped talking about him."

"Excuse me?"

"You stopped talking about him."

I took a deep breath. "What's _that_ got to do with anything? I've had a thousand things on my plate." Plus it wasn't her business.

"Right! I know! And after a while, it got harder and harder to tell you, 'cuz it looked like he hadn't shown up…and you had so many other things to worry about. And then I wondered whether maybe he _did_ show up and it didn't work out…and the longer I waited, the harder it got to talk about it with you."

I swiped some more at the dried milk stain that wasn't going away. _How could someone's actions be so misguided? _

"Honest, I didn't know what to do, Sookie."

I realized I was in a position of not knowing again. I groaned out loud. "This makes things really complicated for me now." Did Eric try to reach me at the hospital, only to be turned away, or did he make a run for it once he'd heard the word 'baby' come out of Amelia's mouth?

"I'm really sorry. To tell you the truth, I feel responsible for the entire mess."

"What?"

"I was the one who gave him your phone number."

"When?"

"You know, the practical joke about the fake fender bender, asking him to call Larry."

"That was you?"

"Mm-hmm."

Wait a minute. There was something else that was bugging me. _Whole entire mess._ Had she actually called it a _whole entire mess?_ That's when it hit me. Amelia didn't approve. She'd played matchmaker, and then when it looked to her like things weren't working out, in her opinion, she played _unmatchmaker._

"Do you hate me?"

I had to admit, the feelings were pretty strong. The desire to slap her made my fingers twitch. Calling her a meddling bitch sounded pretty good too. But what sounded best of all was her rental income. Otherwise, I'd have no hope of paying for Octavia.

So I did what I was used to doing: pretending everything was shiny and good outside a tarnished interior. "No, I don't hate you."

She at least had the decency to look visibly relieved. "How can I make it up to you?"

I considered what my next step would be. There was really no use analyzing this whole situation any more. I wasn't about to drive myself nuts by asking her all kinds of stupid questions like, "What kind of face did he make when you told him I was in the hospital?" and, "Did he say where he was going when he left Merlotte's?" and "What was he wearing?" like some kind of lovesick fool.

The fact was, the burden of getting in touch was on me, and I had to assume the ball was back in my court. Exactly what to do next was another matter.

In all likelihood, Eric had come to the diner after receiving the message from Pam. At least I thought that was a safe enough assumption, though I'd certainly been surprised enough lately to have my confidence rattled about anything I thought I knew. Pam had also given me that cloaked message that had uncovered Lorena Ball. Though I didn't know how much more she'd spill for me, I could probably count her a "friend." Of sorts.

Still, I didn't think I'd relish another trip to her office, and I had a couple of other ideas, going by the names of Russell and Bart. A trip to P-town would only get more difficult once I returned to work in a few days, and it seemed to me that it would be a good idea to spread my sources around a little. Who knew what else I'd dredge up. And on top of that, I had another kind of business I'd need to do there.

"Are you up for a little road trip, Amelia?"

She hesitated for the slightest moment, probably surprised by my request. "Sure. I've got some time tomorrow."

And so it was settled.

The next day, P-town was in a quiet, sedate kind of mood unlike anything I'd ever seen there. Off season. During the day. Quiet and kind of wholesome. Maybe even a little bland. I was sad to see that Bart's store was closed for the day.

It took us a little while in the maze of side streets and alleyways to find the bait-and-tackle shop. Amelia made off with E.J. while I stepped inside, where I was relieved to find Russell.

He appraised me carefully. "I know you. You've been here before, haven't you?"

"I'm Sookie…"

He interrupted me as I was saying my name. "…The sapphire sunburst."

He knew me by my jewel. "That's right."

"That was a special piece. I hope you're enjoying it."

"Yes. I am." _But now cold hard cash is an even more beautiful thing. "_Only, I regret that I need to return it. If you'll take it, that is."

"You want me to _buy_ it back?"

I flushed. I started babbling now, afraid he'd be insulted by my return. "I could take it to a pawn shop, but I never trust them. And it seemed too special of a piece to put in anybody's hands. I thought I'd bring it to you first. You made it right?"

Shoving aside a spare diaper and bib, I pulled a soft pouch out of my purse. The brooch slipped out of the pocket and practically pressed itself right into my hands. I imagined the indentations it would make in the mold of my palm.

"What a shame. I think it was meant for you."

"Yes. I hate to part with it." I refused to get attached to this object, especially since it could help keep a roof over our heads, but I wasn't about to insult the man who'd made it.

I pushed it toward him. It released from my fingers, scritching and scratching across the glass countertop like a crab scuttling across the sand. My hands pulled away.

Russell had turned to pull a file out of a drawer. He rifled through some papers before pulling out a yellow slip. "Okay. Here's the record."

He picked up the pin, looking at me, not at it. I squirmed, willed the tears back, and pulled a puppet master kind of smile. He had the same intense kind of look that Eric did, which was not helping me hold it together at the moment. Finally, after what seemed like the most concentrated silence ever, he pulled out a check book and started scribbling. "I think you'll find this a fair amount, yes?" He tore off a check and held it up.

_$5300._ _"Are you sure?_" I almost blurted out. "Yes. Of course. Thank you." I think a gasp might have escaped along the way.

"Ms. Stackhouse…"

"…How do you know my name?"

He paused briefly. "I never forget an unusual name like Sookie. Plus it's here in my files."

I looked down at the check. Sure enough, my full name had been written on it.

"I'm sorry. I don't know your full name."

"Russell Edgington."

"Mr. Edgington, do you know the man who gave me this pin? Eric Northman?"

"Why do you ask?"

I sighed. I was tired of the game-playing surrounding everyone whom I asked about Eric. Sophie-Anne. Pamela. And now Russell. I decided to be blunt and straightforward with him. "It's very important that I get in touch with him. He might have tried to reach me already, but we missed each other. Please tell him I'm still at the diner and the same home address. He knows where it is."

"All right."

I noticed right away that he didn't say, "I'll see that he gets it," or "If I happen to run into him, I'll pass it along," or even, "I doubt I'll see him any time soon." It was just an "All right."

Russell's eyes held mine with a look that was both empty and resolute. He wasn't budging, and he wasn't used to anyone even trying. _All righty then._ I had no other business to conduct with him. No bait to buy. No additional pieces of jewelry to sell back. No fish story to share. (You shoulda seen the one that got away…Oh, right, you _know_ the one who got away.) I wondered what kind of business Russell was involved in, given that his bait shop wasn't exactly convenient to the water. There were no other businesses nearby. No permanent residents. Only a bunch of people coming and going.

Like me. I snapped to. I held a check for $5300 in my hands that was begging to be cashed. Quickly. My business was done here. I didn't even bother with a "Say hello to Bart," though I would have liked to have seen him. With a "thank you" and a "good day," I was on my way out of the store.

Only now I wondered how much the pin was really worth. If he was willing to so easily write a check for an amount that seemed extremely high to me, it might be worth even more. Unless…well, now my brain was spinning silly stories. I'd been bamboozled by too many men these days to trust any of them.

I caught up with Amelia and E.J. a few blocks away. She excused herself for a few minutes while I spent some time browsing in an overpriced children's store, wondering who would pay $29.95 for an infant's t-shirt.

There was one more thing I wanted to do today. On the way home, I asked Amelia if she would stop by a particular beach. I directed her toward the parking lot, which was completely empty today. "Do you mind waiting here for a few minutes?"

"Sure." She knew better than to ask why, but her surprise leaked out on her face when she saw me pull E.J. out of his carrier. I grabbed an extra blanket, anticipating a cool breeze down by the water.

As I reached the top of the dunes, I could see right away that there was nothing of the horror I had witnessed here last summer. All evidence of what had happened here a year ago had been wiped clean. There was simply the reassuring detritus typical of these kinds of beaches not frequented by many people—the scattered bits of driftwood and broken shells and clumps of seaweed and bird tracks in the sand.

I walked with E.J. right down to the water's edge. Had the water been quite a bit warmer, or had I not been holding E.J., I would have waded in a little, but this would work all right here, where the water stopped just shy of kissing my toes. This view was my favorite in the whole world. I liked it even more than the one from my own home, comforting and familiar, but filled with buoys and boats and floating docks and a sandbar that came and went with the tide. Here, the vast, unbroken open space—a giant blank canvas—empty of clutter but loaded with possibility, made me shiver, exhilarated and frightened all at once. It took only a moment or two of focusing outward to feel the land disappear and grant me ungrounded weightlessness, with absolutely nothing to shove off from. I could get lost here, overtaken by that lovely feeling that all of my cares and concerns in this world amounted to an insignificant speck. I held E.J. up against me, face out, and wondered how much he could see. Maybe one day he'd feel it too.

I hoped he would.

I didn't want to take too long there. Before he started to fuss, I headed to Amelia's car with him, thinking about my day. I was $5300 closer to keeping our heads above the water, I'd passed along another message to Eric, and I'd freshened up my view of the world. All in all, a good day, I'd say.

"Thank you," I offered simply to Amelia when she looked at me quizzically.

"All set?" she asked.

"Yes. Let's go."

* * *

"_Where do you want to go?" I could see from Eric's tense posture that he was ready to do something._

"_Let's go see that finback whale that washed ashore yesterday."_

"_Really? You want to go see a dead whale?"_

"_Yeah. I've never gotten that close to one."_

"_You've never been on a whale watch?" Around here, you couldn't escape childhood without going on at least a few._

"_Sure. But that's different. You never get to see the whole thing when they're in the water, even when they breach." _

_I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, but they're alive." _

_His eyes narrowed. "You think I'm joking."_

_That gave me pause. I'd insulted him. "Oh, no. I can see how serious you are."_

"_Don't you think it would be interesting?"_

"_Well…" I hesitated. Interesting, I'd concede. I just couldn't say it had ever been on my top-ten list of things to do on a date. _

"_Come on," he offered, "We'll stop for ice cream afterwards." He was back in the game. _

"_Well, now I'm sold for sure." I poked at his rib cage. "Dead whale followed by ice cream. Ima lucky girl." I poked him again for good measure._

_He retaliated as I knew he would, pulling me in close and nuzzling my neck, making me squirm in a good way. There would be a third act too._

"_Which beach?" I consented._

"_I forget the name, but I think I know where it is. It's one of the smaller ones."_

_It took a little trial and error until we found it. From the parking area, it was about a fifty-yard walk to the beach path. Eric, clearly excited, strode ahead. _

_I slowed. An insinuating odor was drifting around me, hinting at something so very wrong. I thought about turning back then. I really did. I even thought about what I'd do in Eric's Jeep while he did his thing, whatever that was, with a dead whale. Surely I had a spare nail file and buffer tucked in the bottom of my purse. I'd sit and shape and shine up my nails, all the while considering ice cream choices. Maybe I'd go for something new, like ginger snap molasses or Mexican chocolate or strawberry rhubarb or…_

_A bank of stench hit me hard and fast, immediately ruining my appetite, possibly for good. My stomach lurched in that way that was not unfamiliar to me those days. Up ahead, Eric crested the dune, calling out, "Christ! Look at it!" and "What the fuck is that?"_

_I thought again about hightailing it out of there, but I'd already gone too far to turn back, and although I'd been avoiding it, I also needed to breathe again. My mouth aimed to take in a little gasp to spare my nose, only the air had its own plans, shoving its thick, oily, rancid mass right down my throat. I gagged as it coated my insides. _

_It wasn't long before I reached the top of the dune and saw for myself that dead whale, long and massive, flopped on the beach. No matter how many times I'd seen a whale—live—its size and magnificence always amazed me. I hoped I'd never lose that sense of wonder, but at that moment, it made my sadness and horror feel even worse. _

_The finback is not the largest kind of whale, but this one had an enormous, billowing protrusion from its mouth end. It ballooned outward and upward, far, far above and beyond the mass of the body. From a distance, I might have been able to convince myself that it was playing with an oversized beach ball. As I walked closer, though, it became more and more difficult to think that was the case._

_Eric's head was bent down, scrutinizing its gaping mouth. He called out excitedly to me, "I think that's the fucking tongue."_

_I looked at the mouth too._

"_Can you believe it? That's the tongue!"_

_No, in fact, I couldn't. I looked right at it and still couldn't fathom how a tongue could swell to such a grotesque and misshapen form. I looked away. Somehow I felt as though I were stealing this animal's dignity, if that were possible. _

_There had to be something. There had to be something positive I could remember about this whale so that it wouldn't just be left to rot. Once a fishmonger had told me that the way to tell a fresh fish is to look for an eye that looks right at you. Though I was frightened, I could do that. I could look him in the eye. The way his body was twisted, his eye looked out right above my eye level. But when I looked at his dull, lifeless eye, I could scarcely believe it had ever seen anything. I swallowed back a sob and caught the taste of spoiled sea in my mouth. _

_The flesh wasn't any better. Though still shiny and glossy, it looked like nothing more than an inner tube thrown in someone's backyard pool. I imagined if I touched it, it would feel much the same—cold and artificial. _

_Eric had moved down toward the tail end. _

"_According to the radio report I heard, they say it's a juvenile male." He circled, probably looking for anatomical evidence. "How do you think you tell?" _

_I shrugged. I didn't want to open my mouth again, but even if I knew, I wasn't about to betray this whale's confidence. _

"_And they say that so far, they haven't found any trauma to the body, or anything that would suggest it was struck by a boat propeller."_

_I guessed I felt a little better knowing that humans hadn't caused this death. Still, the end result was the same. One way or another, through human fault or Mother Nature, this whale had been ejected from the sea, unceremoniously kicked out and left to rot. _

_I tried imagining what this whale looked like swimming underwater. Finbacks are known as the Greyhound of the sea, for their sleekness and speed, but looking at this mass of flaccid flesh, I gained a new understanding of the expression dead weight. _

_Eric was moving again, measuring the distance from end to end by his stride. "That's about fifteen yards, not including the tongue." He was back to the tongue. "That fucking tongue could explode."_

_So could I. The tears came hard and fast, boosted by my stupid, stupid hormones. _

_He didn't notice, still caught up in the gory sight. "How do you think they'll get it out of here? They might have to cut it up right here. How else would they haul it out?"_

_No, I decided, this wasn't really about hormones. This whole scene wasn't okay with me, and wouldn't ever be—not in any way. I couldn't hold it in any longer. Right there I hunched over and retched into the sand._

_I stood up, and with nothing else available, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Eric had wandered closer, but held his distance, and for once I was glad he didn't reach for me. I wrapped my arms around myself._

_At that point, I knew three things. First, I was done there. I turned to walk away, knowing that whenever Eric was ready, he'd follow._

_Second, if my suspicions about being pregnant were right, I'd already made my decision about keeping the baby._

_And third, I felt no compunction about making it on my own._

_It was my decision. In fact, I guessed I'd call it one whale of a decision._

* * *

**~Thanks for reading!~**

_And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!  
_


	19. The To Do List

**Recap of Previous Chapter: **Sookie learns that Eric stopped by the diner while she was in the hospital, and that Amelia "spilled the baby beans" to him. Sookie and Amelia drive to P-town, where Sookie sells her sapphire pin back to Russell. On the ride home, Sookie recalls a trip she and Eric took last summer to see a dead whale, which led her to decide to keep the baby, without discussing it with Eric.

I think there was some confusion in the last chapter about what Sookie decided during that "dead whale watch." To clarify: she realized that if she's pregnant, as she suspected, she planned to keep the baby, and she felt no compunction about _making_ _this decision_ without Eric's input.

**Disclaimer:** All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

* * *

Chapter 19: **The** **To-Do List**

On the way home from P-town, Amelia drove by the bank so I could cash Russell's check. _For $5300. _It would do little good thinking about how I had gotten that money—how Eric had wooed me down a dark alley…dropping treats along the way…tugging…luring…

"It's merely a gift from me to you," he'd said, but of course I'd wondered.

In place of the pin, the tiny slip of paper I held in my hands showed a heavy balance that would give me some breathing room and tide me over until the next hurdle got thrown in my path. It bought me some time. I pushed my doubts aside and swallowed hard over the tight knot in my throat.

We made it home just as E.J. was starting to make his breathy, staccato "heh-heh-heh" noises, the kind of I-want-to-eat cry that comes immediately before a feed-me-now-dammit wail. Together, we sank down into the Green Monster, E.J.'s soft cuddly weight molding against me.

When I returned to work, I would miss him.

Amelia saved me from tears. "Octavia left a note here for you."

"What's it say?"

"Bill came by at 1:30."

Huh. _That was interesting._ I hadn't seen L.L. since that night I'd passed out by his front stoop. I hadn't even seen him skulking around in his garden.

Truth was, I'd been avoiding L.L., staying inside whenever I saw his car or sticking to the side of my house facing my other neighbor instead. I wasn't too keen on dredging up any memories of that night, and beyond that, I wasn't sure I should smack him for screwing me over or hug him for saving my life.

Regardless, I'd need to face up to him because—if I was being brutally honest—he probably had some information that would be helpful.

"And it says that he'll try again tomorrow."

I doubted L.L. would be looking to borrow a cup of sugar, though that wasn't without precedence.

Next morning—surprise, surprise—dawned bright and early for E.J. and me. By 9 AM, I'd already had a shower (yay!), a cup of coffee (special treat), and an actual breakfast (frozen waffles count if you toast them, right?) and had put E.J. down for a morning nap. I had two more days—today and tomorrow—before I returned to Merlotte's, and I was raring to go. I got out my list of things to do.

_Pump _

_Groceries _

_Laundry _

_Research zoning board_

_Dust behind TV _

_Talk to L.L._

_Cull baby clothes_

I decided to start with the baby clothes.

Tiptoeing upstairs, I skipped over the creaky spots, sneaked into E.J.'s room, eased out the bottom drawer of his dresser, and carried it down to the parlor—all without waking up the little bugger. The drawer was practically overflowing with newborn outfits-many of which I'd received as gifts-that had gotten too snug. In fact, as I sorted, I became dismayed over how much was _not_ going back into the drawer. I tossed a few pieces into the rag bag, saved one or two items for sentimental reasons, and stacked a large pile for donation. He'd barely worn them. On the positive side, with warm weather surely on the way, E.J. could get through the summer with a few simple onesie t-shirts. I'd worry about cooler weather later.

With that chore done, I crossed it off my list, glanced through the other items again, and decided it was a good opportunity to fit in a pumping. I'd just gotten myself settled and was on a roll, so to speak, when a loud knock at the door startled me.

_Crap._

L.L..

At least I'd be able to cross another item off my list.

Octavia had gotten up a few minutes ago and was taking a shower. I detached myself from the suction cups—carefully—set the half-full bottles of milk down in their holders, tucked myself into my bra, and started walking toward the door, still shifting my clothes into place. I smoothed some stray hairs behind my ears and made a last-ditch effort to scrape crust off my pants—was that poop?—as I was pulling open the door.

And suddenly found myself eye-to-eye with Eric.

Well, at least we were at the same eye level height, with me up here on the step, and him down there on the sidewalk. His face was as inscrutable as ever.

Eric apparently hadn't been crawling around any old houses recently. He'd pulled his hair back tidily and wore that same leather jacket, slung open over a tee, worn, but neat and clean. His boots had been polished and buffed recently. I recognized his jeans, too.

But no belt.

I felt a wave of disappointment over that missing belt.

Maybe I should have been feeling more at that moment, aside from missing a damn belt, but nope. I felt numb. Nothing was coming to me. Or maybe everything was coming at once and jamming up the works. As I was busy trying to figure all of this out, I realized I should probably speak.

"You came." Yeah—brilliant—I know.

He raised his eyebrows and waited. "What am I doing here?" he seemed to be saying to me. A similar thought had crossed my mind too. Of course he wasn't going to make it easy for me. Just when I thought I was going to have to say something else to Mr. Conversationalist, he said, "I checked at the diner first, and Sam told me you were at home."

"Yes, that's right." _Well, duh._ To save myself, I added, "I have today and tomorrow off."

I was still standing in front of my wide-open door, smack dab in the middle of the Milk Barn and Consignment Shop East, which wasn't where I wanted to have this conversation. (It might be like rubbing salt in the wound.) Figuring Gran would forgive me just this once for not inviting him in, I closed the door behind me and motioned toward the front step. He opted for the patch of crab grass beside the walkway. Jason and I used to call it crabby grass for its spiky harshness, though I'd since come to appreciate that it could grow anywhere, even in this salty, sandy place in the middle of a dry summer.

For all of those weeks I'd spent looking for Eric, I hadn't planned exactly what to say to him. Well, I'd tried, of course, but I'd hit a stumbling block in my head each and every time. Unfortunately, with a living, breathing Eric in front of me, all that was coming to me was, "So, Eric…about the baby…I accidentally skipped a few pills last summer—it really was a mistake—and decided to keep him without you."

That was the truth, but no, that probably wouldn't make things any easier between us. I could go with a short enticement, such as, "Congratulations, it's a boy," but that too didn't seem to be the best choice, either. Sheez, even Gran wouldn't be able to help me out much here. What would Miss Manners advise?

Maybe we needed a warm-up, some casual chit-chat to work our way into the meatier stuff. That sounded pretty good. And—good heavens—I should probably offer him a drink. I started to get up. "Can I get you some lemonade? Ice water?" _ Shot of vodka._

He held his hands up in a halting position as if to say 'no.'

_Alrighty, then. _"So…You must have gotten my message from Russell."

_Pluck. _He'd started absently pulling at the grass. "I got _two_ messages." _Pluck_. _Pluck. Pluck._

"Yeah, I went to Pam first." I didn't like the way he was denuding my lawn. In fact, I felt downright pissed off about it. "Actually, I went to Leclerq first."

He paused and looked up with his steady face. "A lot of things have changed for _both_ of us." _Pluck._

It was a dodge-reproach kind of answer. I held my irritation in check—barely—and stepped back to reconsider. My first—and possibly my only responsibility—was telling Eric about E.J.. Anything else was off the main point. I forged ahead. "Amelia told me she talked to you." I was about as close as possible to acknowledging the 'b' word without actually saying it.

"I tried to visit you at the hospital, but they turned me away so…" He shrugged and then started plucking again.

So he _had_ come to see me at the hospital. _In the maternity ward._ He too was hovering dangerously close to the 'b' word. The two of us were circling, quietly poking and prodding at one another. I wondered when the first really hard shove would come.

"I didn't know you came, and Amelia didn't give me the message from the diner until two days ago."

_Pluck._

The sound of each blade of grass being snapped off tweaked my already frayed nerves. Jay and I used to stretch those coarse strands of grass between our thumbs to make a really obnoxious whistle. It was time to go for it. "So obviously you know about the baby."

_Pluck. Pluck. Pluck_. If he fucking kept that up, I wouldn't need to mow.

"Obviously."

I breathed out hard, realizing how tightly I'd been holding myself. Still, there was no release of tension at that moment—no letting go—or any sense of moving forward. Eric, too, seemed unchanged, with no show of emotion on his face. No anger. No joy. No sadness. But, of course, he'd had time to take the news. Whatever feeling he'd had when he'd initially heard it was wiped clean. All evidence destroyed.

I took a deep breath in, feeling the taut strain again in my chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't the one to tell you." That was the honest truth.

He stopped the damn plucking and leaned on his hands. "What do you want, Sookie?"

"Want? That's not what this is about!"

"I know you're in trouble. Russell told me he paid you for the pin. _A lot_ of money, by the way."

_What? _ And he thought I was grubbing for money?

Eric knew exactly what he was doing, aiming straight to wound my pride. Some pent-up words tumbled out. "About half of my troubles would go away if I didn't have a developer named Lorena Ball buying up all this property," I spread my arms out to point to everything around me. "And the other half would go away if an architecture firm wasn't designing the plans to help her."

"It seems to me William should have bailed you out of that one." Eric stood up, moving in a jerky, agitated way. I'd been surprised that he'd stayed sitting that long. "But I can see he's no longer part of the picture." He grimaced.

What exactly had motivated Eric to respond to my messages? Surely he hadn't come to fess up to any wrongdoing he'd committed through Leclerq. It wasn't like he was feeling any warm fuzzies about being a father, or any desire kiss and make up. No, this was Eric, scorned and passed over for another man. Maybe he'd come to see me hang and twist, alone, assuming I'd been dumped once L.L. had learned the baby wasn't his. Maybe Eric would viciously enjoy seeing me abandoned by the very man he thought I'd left _him_ for. Could he be that mean?

Through the front door, I heard E.J. starting to cry. For once I didn't feel like joining him.

I stood up too. I didn't know whether what I was about to say would make matters better or worse, but it needed to be said. "I lied about L.L.."

He stilled.

"What do you mean?"

"L.L. was never back in the picture. I thought it would be best for both of us if I told you that, so we could break things off cleanly, as we agreed from the beginning. I made a mistake and felt responsible, and I didn't want to be your obligation. I didn't want us to feel obligated to each other."

"Obligated?"

"You know…how we agreed. It was just for the summer. And when I found out I was pregnant, I…" I stopped.

The truth was, it had been about more than not wanting to be Eric's obligation last summer. I couldn't face him then, beyond our summer fling. He would have been too much for me. I guessed E.J. and I would have been too much for him too. We would have crashed and burned. But getting into all of this with him just then, well…I wasn't sure whether we ever would, whether he'd ever know the truly intimate parts of me. Maybe he'd never fully understand why I'd done what I'd done. I supposed only time would tell.

Eric's eyes had become wild and jumping, saccadic. I watched the muscles and tendons in his jaw flex and flicker. He took a few steps away, and then paced back. "You had a baby."

"Well…yes." _Obviously._ We'd covered that ground already.

"_My_ baby?"

And that's when it dawned on me.

_Shit. _ _Shit. Shit_. I'd been _stupid _to assume he knew. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _We weren't on the same effing paternity page_._ I'd assumed Amelia had told him. "Oh…Eric…" Panic flooded over me. My stomach sank. Plummeted. Dropped to the very bottom of a bottomless pit. Turned inside out and twisted into a big knot before doing a flip-flop and a loop-the-loop.

"Not William's," he reiterated.

"Not William's," I confirmed. "He's yours. Ours." I said it as clearly as I could. He looked straight at me. I looked him straight back. "I named him after you. Eric Jason. I call him E.J. for short..." My words trailed off. He was probably still thinking over the idea that he was a father.

And starting to feel a surge of anger.

"I want to see him." Make no mistake: he was no father willing to move heaven and earth to get to his son. No, he was looking for proof.

Proof that he was really the father.

My revelation had had plenty of time to sink in. His arms and shoulders strained visibly under a volatile load, like he was struggling to contain a storm cloud full of lightning. I didn't think he would hurt E.J. or me—at least not physically—but there would be no talking him into waiting for another occasion when things had calmed.

Without another word, I opened the door. I watched his boots stride right overtop of the script lettering of the "welcome" mat, bordered by a pretty row of scallop shells and sea stars, and straight across the threshold. That mat did little to keep the sand out anyway. I'd only left it there because the front door had seemed so bare and empty without it.

A waft of air drew in, gasping, and then steadied.

I closed the door to face him. E.J.'s wails had become more insistent. Strangely enough, Eric seemed smaller here, standing inside my house. When I took in a deep breath, all things old poked quietly, but insistently at me. I knew he smelled and felt it too. And then his face hardened again as he looked up at the ceiling, as though he could see E.J. from here. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but I imagined his reaching up with his hands and placing his palms flat on the ceiling; he'd at least be tall enough to do it.

"Do you want to go up with me?"

He gestured for me to go ahead of him.

I walked up the stairs to the nursery. Octavia was there holding E.J. over her shoulder, shushing in his ear and bouncing. She looked at me apologetically. There was little space for conversation above the din of his wails. "I do think he's hungry."

"It's okay. Octavia, this is Eric…" I stopped short of calling him E.J.'s father or my friend or my former lover. She nodded and smiled uncertainly as she passed the screaming bundle over to me. Eric barely gave Octavia a stony greeting in return.

Octavia seemed hesitant about what to do next.

"Thanks. I'll feed him now." As she stepped out of the room, I noticed Eric's clinical scrutiny of E.J.. I think if he could have pulled out a paternity test right then and there, he would have done it.

E.J. had grown and filled out over the past six weeks, but he still had a certain newborn appearance that made him look like any other baby. His blonde, spiky hair could have easily come from me. His eyes, clamped shut by his persistent bawl, were his most persuasive feature. That's what Eric was waiting to see.

Awkwardly, I turned away from Eric. Tara had given me the nickname "Quick Draw" for my ability to whip out a boob and get E.J. latched on in nothing flat, without even a flash of nipple, but doing it in front of an angry Eric was another matter.

E.J. was a pro himself. He tensed for a moment as he latched on, gave a few short draws, and then paused for that pay-off of the big let-down of milk. I took a deep breath to try to relax, felt the warm rush, and watched E.J.'s eyes pop open as he worked hard on taking in those first full gulps of milk. Soon enough, when he was sated and starting to tire, his body would relax and his eyes would droop; the moment had come for Eric to see. I turned to walk toward the rocking chair, next to the window. Eric followed me with his eyes and stepped closer before finally angling himself so he was looking directly into E.J.'s eyes.

"They're a match," I wanted to say to him. "They're utterly and wholly convincing."

But Eric's hard expression had barely changed; he might as well have been studying the features of a map. I wondered how long he'd stand there and at what point this moment would turn from very awkward to completely awkward. It wouldn't take long, and E.J. could go at this for even longer.

He wasn't ready for the chit chat. Maybe one day I would say to him, "He was ten-pounds, 2 ounces at birth," or, "He's growing so fast he's in his three-to-six-month clothes," or "I can get him to make a crooked little smile if I lean over him and coo."

Instead, I pointed toward the footstool, offering him a seat. "This may take a while."

He shook his head.

Glancing around the room for whatever else I could offer, I decided very quickly the nursery was not the best place for hosting a guest. Blankets, diapers, rattles, and the like were really only appealing to a very small crowd.

"Eric, I know this is a lot to lay on you at once."

"I don't understand how you could have done this."

_Get pregnant? Have the baby? Not tell you?_ I'd start with the easy answer.

"It didn't happen on purpose. I messed up on my pill, but it was a complete accident…"

"You knew that night in the shack, didn't you?"

"That's when I first suspected." _Actually, you kind of pointed it out._

"We could have taken care of it then."

"Taken care of it?" I felt the blood drain from my face. What he was suggesting—what had indeed been an option then—was appalling to consider with E.J. bundled in my arms, suckling from my breast. I pulled him in tighter, understanding that fierce protectiveness that a parent feels. I was sickened he'd mentioned it.

"Oh, please. Don't act like you didn't consider having an abortion."

"I'm glad we didn't." It was all I could choke out without crying.

"_You_ didn't."

I almost snapped, "That's right, _I _didn't," but stopped myself. Eric's spite seemed to be less about having a baby per se and more about his lack of control and power over the situation. I decided to take a big gamble and call his bluff.

"How would _you_ have handled it?"

His eyes flickered across E.J. and out the window toward the pond. "I wouldn't have lied to you."

I had to admit that stung—the suggestion that my moral character was less than honorable. I'd wondered it myself over the past few weeks—whether lying to him had been the right thing to do, even if my intentions were well meaning. Things could have turned out quite differently if I had told him the truth last summer, and not necessarily better.

"Maybe not, but you'd keep a secret from me."

"What do you want to know?" His eyes bore _straight into mine without wavering once._

_His tell_.

So he _did_ have something to hide.

He was calling _my_ bluff—daring me—giving me broad open space for asking him about Leclerq—all the while sure that I wouldn't. I knew enough about Eric to know he'd never lay himself exposed and vulnerable. Not like this, anyway.

It made me want to give him a hard grilling just to show him that I could.

And I _could_. Last summer I couldn't have done it, but now…

No. We'd already shared enough that day. It wasn't the right time. Eric would need to give me answers if there was going to be an "us," but I wasn't about to tear him down to get them.

Eric's posture was tense and stiff, waiting for my response and geared up for the blow of battle. Just watching him standing there, in ready position, made me feel drained—weary to the bone—as though he were sapping energy straight out of the room.

There had to be another way.

"I'm tired, Eric," I acknowledged outright.

_Tired of being lonely. Tired of not being known by someone who would matter most. Tired of not knowing someone who would matter most._

"And I wondered whether I missed something with you."

Eric was still looking out the window. He said nothing. Had he been anybody else, I would have been uncertain about whether he'd heard me. Minutes passed. Gradually, the quiet clicking sounds of E.J.'s gulps grew to fill the silence, swallowing us up, room and all.

Suddenly, Eric's body jerked away from the window. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, started to pace, and then froze.

"Eric?"

"I have to go."

"Now?"

"Yes." He rubbed his smooth, clean-shaven chin, pulled out his cell phone, paused, and then stuffed it back in his pocket.

"I have to go," he said again, striding for the door. He was there in two steps, before I could scramble out of the chair. When I finally managed to get up and follow behind him, E.J.'s blanket trailed between my legs.

"I'll call you," he said as he bounded down the stairs. I could hear from the clomps of his feet that he took at least several steps at once.

He was out of the house before I reached the top of the staircase.

Hearing the noise, Octavia came back up to take E.J. from me, leaving me with empty arms and a sudden sense of having nothing to do. Thinking back on the long, twisty path that had brought me to that moment, it was a strange feeling, for sure, to realize I'd suddenly accomplished my goal of finding Eric.

What would I do next?

I dug deep into my pocket to pull out the folded to-do list I'd stashed there earlier in the day and glanced at the items again. "Tell Eric he's a father," I added. But thinking about that a little more, I changed it to, "Tell Eric he's E.J.'s father," before crossing it off.

And then I wondered again what I'd do next.

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have him...Live Eric, not of the flashback variety. I'm really curious to hear what you think of him.

Also, I posted the first chapter of another story, **_Bird in Hand_**, which is about about vampires coming to Amish country in Pennsylvania. I hope you'll check it out!**  
**

**~Thanks for reading!~**

And thanks, as always, to makesmyheadspin and peppermintyrose. ;)


	20. The Bloodsuckers

**Recap of Previous Chapter:** Eric shows up unexpectedly at Sookie's doorstep and is surprised to learn he is a father. He responds harshly to Sookie and E.J. and then leaves suddenly, indicating only that he'll call her later.

**Disclaimer:** All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

* * *

Chapter 20: **The Bloodsuckers**

The next morning, I woke up with a headache.

Yesterday's surprise visit had set off a cleaning frenzy with a windows theme. I'd snapped out all the blinds, one by one, and given them a thorough scrubbing in the tub. I'd slipped all of the curtains off their rods, washed them, and hung them out to dry on the clothesline. I'd sucked up all the sand and grit from the window sills, using the thin, pointy wand attachment on my vacuum. Then I'd shined up all of my windows from the inside, and even managed to tackle the outside on the bottom floor. This morning, I was pleased to see they still sparkled.

It's nice to have control over something.

Today's theme was slated to be "floors."

I longed to start cracking on them, but E.J.'s fussiness meant he was content only snuggled up against me in the sling; I'd have to come up with another project. And I'd be damned if I was going to sit by the phone waiting for it to ring.

No, I definitely needed to stay busy and productive.

I grabbed for my well-worn list. "Talk to L.L." was still on there.

He had said he'd stop by yesterday and hadn't, though maybe he'd seen Eric's car in the driveway. In any case, it was time. Without giving it any more consideration, I walked straight out the door to L.L.'s house.

I'd walked this route so many times, I was surprised I hadn't worn a path in the ground: across my side yard, skirting a short row of hydrangea bushes just starting to green up, onto his side lawn, crossing over a small guest parking area lined with broken bits of seashells bleached to a bright white, and then around to his front lawn with its flower beds in transition, with straggling spring flowers not quite ready to give in to summer growth. The air felt strangely uneven, like a cake batter not thoroughly mixed, streaked with ingredients. Warm land breezes twisted and spun with swirling pockets of cool air pushed off the still frigid ocean waters. I tugged on the fabric of the sling to cover E.J.'s toes. Socks were impossible to keep on his feet, which was why I usually dressed him in footed sleepers. But he outgrew those darned things so fast.

Outside L.L.'s front door, several boxes were stacked atop each other, which seemed strange. L.L. wasn't one to leave a mess without tending to it. And with E.J.'s weight in front of me, I needed to brace myself against the door frame to reach the bell. I was just starting to think they looked like moving boxes when L.L. opened the door.

His face immediately registered surprise.

"Sookie."

"I got Octavia's message that you stopped by. I know you said you'd return, but…"

"You look well."

Sensitive about that subject, I could feel my face flushing. I wished he hadn't steered the conversation in that direction right off the bat, reminding me of that horrible night. "I'm fine," I said through my puppeteered grin. "Thank you for calling for help for me." Of course I was thankful, only this was too awkward. How do you say, "I'm grateful you saved my life," to someone who also may have stabbed you in the back?

"I was scared for you. I…"

I held my hand up. _Enough._ To be honest, I wasn't in the mood to process his feelings on the matter. "Thank you, L.L.. I wanted to catch up with you today because tomorrow I go back to work. And then after that…"

He nodded. "You'll be busy." L.L. picked up quickly on the business vibe. "Actually, I set these boxes here to bring them over to you. As I was sorting through my things, I came across some odds and ends you might be able to use."

"You're moving." It was the only possible explanation.

"Yes. As it turns out, my…lease is up."

"Oh."

I supposed in normal conversation, I would have thanked him for thinking of me and asked him where he was moving to. But this was no normal conversation.

There was a Big Bad coming. I just knew it.

L.L. continued. "You need to know something. I tried to give you some information…that night…and now, well, there's not much more that I can do, and you need to be informed."

I cringed inside.

"Would you like to come in and sit down?"

"No. Give it to me straight."

He paused. And shifted his feet. And scratched behind his ear. And cleared his throat. Sweet Jesus, was he capable of giving it to me straight? I wanted to reach out, grab hold of his shoulders, and shake it lose from him, but I was still holding E.J.. Truly, I did not want to be dragged through the twisty route any more than I already had been. "L.L.?"

"The woman you asked me about, Lorena Ball…"

"Yes." I waved my hands impatiently.

"She owns all the property on both sides of you."

"Right."

"Sookie, local politics are a crooked mess."

"Yes, I know that too."

"Lorena has been working to put a proposal together to develop this property."

"Not mine, she isn't!"

"Obviously she can't _take_ your property. But she's recently finagled a land deal elsewhere on the Cape that's pleased some key players on the zoning board. It's exactly the right grease to help win the approval she needs to go ahead with her development here."

"What do you mean, development?"

"I'm not sure. She's floating different plans, trying to get a feel for what will fly with the board. A small, private yacht club. Condos. Maybe more."

"And then there's me. Smack dab in the middle…"

"She's not afraid to build around you. She figures eventually you'll cave. One plan I saw was even designed to fit in with your house." He raised his eyebrows at me purposefully. _Eric._

I would deal with Eric later; this was L.L.'s moment to shine. "And you knew all of this and never told me."

"There were complications with…E.J.." He gave another eyebrow raise.

"Give me a break, L.L.. This has been brewing for years, long before I knew _Eric_." I emphasized his name pointedly.

"I've been trying to find a way out for you. Something that would stall Lorena. But I've had to be very careful about my inquiries and disclosures because Lorena and I have had professional ties. And it's not wise to double cross Lorena."

I turned away from him. To think that all of these plans had been developing for years right under my nose made me feel like a fool. The whole time I'd _dated_ him, he'd never said a word.

Matter of fact, I'd dated _two_ men who'd kept their traps shut.

But if L.L. was telling the truth, he'd been plotting on my behalf to get me out of this jam. He hadn't told me for professional reasons of confidentiality and to keep his double-crossing plans hidden from Lorena. There was more to their relationship—I was sure of it—and thinking about his living here in her house for years, involved in a weird, underground power struggle with her while he was dating me brought my stomach to a lurch. Maybe later my anger would surge, but for now, all I felt was pity. Pity for him.

And—as much as I hated it—pity for myself.

"I can't believe there's nothing."

"Nothing that I can figure. Not without a lot of money. And even then…"

"So I'm supposed to simply give in?"

"Well…"

"What about Pam Ravenscroft?"

He shook his head. "I warned you away from her because I was worried for you. Given all of her…connections…"

"…You mean with Eric?"

"Yes. I was afraid she wouldn't be acting in your best interests."

"But how do I know who to trust?"

"Sookie, listen to me. Having your property listed as historic ultimately wouldn't help you, in this case. Zoning decisions happen locally, and a historic designation doesn't bind anyone. Lorena's been working quietly for years lining up her board members. It's a corrupt mess. And now…"

He stopped shy of saying I was a sitting duck.

I wondered exactly how all of this information would benefit me. Now that I had some more of the puzzle pieces in place, could I do anything to make a difference?

From my spot here in front of L.L.'s house, I tried to imagine what it would look like in a few years, with his house torn down and a fancy yacht club in its place, maybe with a deck and tables and umbrellas, and people lounging about or working on their boats. Weddings and bar mitzvahs and retirement parties. A whole fleet of boats coming and going. And on the other side, new neighbors—lots of new neighbors stacked atop each other, driving in and out of our little neck of the woods on a freshly-paved road. I'd have to install a fence to keep E.J. safe from the traffic. How expensive would that be?...

I was getting ahead of myself.

My problems could be decidedly worse. I mean, she wasn't building a nuclear power plant next to me, right? How bad could condos and a yacht club be? I'd have to share my beach, but really, it wasn't mine anyway. Maybe there'd be some friends for E.J. to play with. I pictured them out in the water, jumping off the floating dock…

…and began to cry as a war waged within me.

L.L. reached to embrace E.J. and me, but I pulled away stiffly and brought my hands to my face. _Dammit!_ I hated these tears; I had no right to wallow in self pity. I had a home. A beautiful home. And I had no personal, private claim to this gorgeous oasis. Other people were entitled to share in it too. That type of not-in-my-back yard attitude had stalled Cape Wind for years.

But then I started thinking about how it always seemed that the little people like me were the ones getting screwed all the time. The Cape Wind project, which aimed to install windmills in Nantucket sound, had been stalled for years, but this project out here on an isolated piece of land, affecting only E.J. and me, really, would slip by largely unnoticed.

Cape Wind , on the other hand, impacted large groups of people with money who'd launched every possible angle of attack. At least two Wampanoag Native American tribes had protested, on the grounds that putting windmills in Nantucket sound would impact their spiritual sun greetings and submerged burial grounds. Commercial fisherman had argued their gear would tangle with underground cables. Boaters had complained the windmills would be located smack dab in the middle of a high traffic area.

_And then there were the environmental groups._

An idea clicked into place so suddenly, I wondered how I had missed it earlier. Brusquely, I wiped my hands across my face, smearing a trail of tears. "I gotta go."

L.L. looked stunned. There would be no more blah, blah, blah discussions. I had something else to work on—a new angle—and little time for it.

He handed me a thin folder and flipped it open to the top sheet. "This is an estimate of what I think Lorena would pay for your house, without a vicious fight."

Catching the emboldened figure at a glance, I gasped at the amount, considerably larger than anyone had ever offered me. I'd suspected they'd been low-balling me, but not by this much.

"She'd probably be willing to pay slightly more, but if you ask for significantly higher, she'll grow suspicious, push back harder, and then you'll have more expensive attorney fees. But I wouldn't go lower than that, depending, of course, on how the market plays out in the next few months. Lorena hates to lose money. She'll save herself some money in the long run if she can acquire your property before she starts building. But if you wait…"

_Nobody else will want my property once it becomes the center stage of a three-ring circus._

New possibilities were churning in my head. I loved my house and would fight as hard as I could to pay for taxes…and the electric…and the oil…and the insurance…and—God help me—the upkeep too…but in the end, it would all come down to what was best for E.J. and me. Food on the table; a warm, safe bed; quality child care, education, and health care benefits all would take priority over my home's treasured view and its lovely scent of old wood—of times gone by—and the cherished sense of belonging it imparted, rooted here to this place in the world.

_I would miss it terribly._

But if Lorena would pay me _this_ amount for my home, I'd have enough to buy a modest home for E.J. and me, send me back to school, and pad our accounts for a long time. Even start on E.J.'s college fund. It meant long-term security for us. I'd be a fool not to consider.

Maybe I was being naive. Of course L.L. might still be in cahoots with Lorena, but I believed he was genuinely trying to help me. He had acknowledged his involvement with her, and now he was giving me information that could probably ruin his career.

He was putting a lot on the line for me. "Thank you," I said, meaning it genuinely.

L.L. nodded. "When I run errands later, I'll stash these boxes on your porch."

"Thanks again." I tucked the folder under my arm, and without any further ado, headed toward my home. With the amount of research ahead of me, I considered whether to stay here, with my slow computer, or drive to the library, where I'd have a harder time managing E.J..

Plus believe it or not, in spite of Lorena's imminent threat, I was feeling optimistic and confident, better than I had in a long time. I had options. Not simply one option. _Options_. Plural. I loved our home, but I would not let it drag us down. I would see to it that our home would bring us security, one way or another. We'd figure it out wherever we landed.

I was nearing the hydrangea hedge when the sound of car wheels on potholes turned my attention toward a flash of red headed my way.

_Eric._ Impatient, I didn't have the time or head space for a yadda-yadda with him at that moment. He sped up to an abrupt stop, flung the door open wide, and strode toward me with a folder tucked under his arm. There seemed to be a lot of those going around that day.

"I know how to save your home."

_Well, good day to you too. _"Excuse me?"

"Your home. I know how to save your home."

_He was wearing his belt. _ He strode toward me with an expression playing across his face that was not at all contrite. We'd come full circle, back to that first day I'd met him, when he'd strode into the diner so confidently.

Only that time I'd grabbed his…package.

Plus I hadn't been sporting a baby accessory.

Yeah. Times had changed. I tugged at the strap of my sling, straightened the fabric, and stood up a little taller. Did he have a plan? I'm sure he did, but I didn't need any saving. And I _definitely_ didn't want his coming in here and taking over. No, not when I'd finally begun to come up with my own plan.

"Is this why you left so suddenly yesterday?"

He paused. "I said I'd call." He held up the manila folder. His white flag. I imagined this was as close as he'd venture to an apology or any sense of remorse. And by accepting his help, I'd be entering into a new contract with him.

The bold words printed on the front cover caught my attention.

_Macrobdella sestertia. If this was what I thought it was…_

I simply couldn't resist. I reached out, my thumb catching along the folder's rigid, straight edge, knife-like. I wouldn't have to press too firmly against the blade to draw blood. My pulse quickened; it throbbed in my neck as I swallowed hard.

Wordlessly, Eric released the folder into my hand. With E.J. still slung in front and another folder tucked under my arm, I needed to do a bit of juggling to manage it all.

"Macrobdella sestertia," I stumbled over the words printed on the outside.

Eric seemed agitated and unsettled. I was about to open up the folder when he reached over and did so himself, rifling through papers.

"Here." He removed a drawing that could have come out of a biology textbook and pointed to its caption. "Macrobdella sestertia," he read. "Otherwise known as the New England Medicinal…"

"…Leeches!"

He nodded.

"The same kind I pulled off L.L.!"

He nodded again.

"Are they endangered?"

"Yes."

A laugh spilled out of me. Eric broke out a full grin.

"Bloodsuckers!" Giddy with excitement, I remembered the slimy, bright green, orange-spotted creatures that had latched on to L.L.. _Who'd have ever predicted it would come down to bloodsuckers? _We were on the same page. Well, he'd gotten there a bit before me, but I'd been heading in that general direction, toward an environmental angle. And by the looks of it, he'd made a good start. "They're _awful_, and I _love_ them!"

"Sookie, Lorena's not squeamish."

No, indeed. All the better. It would make for a more interesting fight. "Neither am I."

Eric's smile had turned into a bit of a leer with a whole history behind it. He had a thousand tales to tell, for sure. I felt excited by the uncertain journey ahead of us.

"Want to come inside?" We still had a lot to figure. I realized I wasn't quite ready to give up on my home, especially with another person in my ranks.

We walked the unmarked path toward my house silently. Eric's steps were uneven, changing between long, purposeful strides and shorter steps as he worked to stay within a step or two of me.

Passing through the parlor, I pointed at the bouncy seat. "Could you grab that?" Maybe E.J. would tolerate it for a bit after I fed him. Eric picked it up awkwardly, dangling it way out in front of him as though it were a dirty diaper. Once in the kitchen, he sat at the table while I tucked away L.L.'s folder in a drawer and poured drinks for both of us. Maybe one day we'd celebrate a victory together and pop a cork. Champagne would be nice too.

E.J. remained a shrouded lump between us as Eric opened the folder and began spreading papers full of jargon: Massachusetts Endangered Species Act, Priority Habitat maps, Conservation Commission, Wetlands Protection Act, Species of Concern, Notice of Intent.

"It's not a slam dunk, you understand? There's no guarantee we'll succeed in stopping her development."

No, I could see that, and the more I shuffled through the papers, the more I realized what a complicated path we faced, full of pitfalls. And what's more, I suspected that not too far into it, there'd be no turning back. We'd probably need legal counsel, which I couldn't afford. "I have a friend of the family, Sid Matt Lancaster, who might be able to help, though I doubt he has a great deal of experience with environmental law."

"I know someone too. Desmond Cataliades. Ever hear of the Northeastern Beach Tiger Beetle?"

I shook my head.

"Neither had I until I was working on a project that got stopped in its tracks by it, owing to Desmond."

"How's he feel about bloodsuckers?"

He smirked. "I think he'd be willing to work with them. He's one hell of an environmental lawyer."

"Sounds expensive."

"I can't afford him either, but he owes my family a favor." Eric looked up from the carefully-constructed rows of paperwork with those eyes of his that reminded me of a hazy summer sky. I felt their heat.

Just when I thought_ I_ might start to squirm, E.J.'s wriggling and stretching in his sling drew my attention away from Eric's steady gaze. Grateful for the distraction, I suddenly found myself working with great intent at coaxing his "best burp yet" out of him.

_Swish, swish swish. Pat-pat-pat, pat-pat._

E.J. sat supported in my lap, his lightly bobbing head steadied by my hand, while my other hand worked circles and pats against his back. After a big feed, he always seemed a bit milk drunk; slightly groggy, relaxed, uncoordinated, and drooly. I stifled my urge to coo at him.

_Swish, swish, swish. Pat-pat-pat, pat-pat._

Babies have a way of commanding the attention of every adult in the room simply by being. As I concentrated on the most thorough burping E.J. ever received, Eric's eyes scanned over him with a scientific scrutiny, defining the observables. E.J. was his critter under the microscope.

_Swish, swish, swish. Pat-pat-pat, pat-pat._

Suddenly, Eric's hand darted out, reaching for us with such purpose, I flinched instinctively, all swishing and patting stopped. Stiffening through and through, I grasped my hold of E.J. more securely, while deep inside, my heart clenched hard into a tight cocoon.

Eric's hand slowed as he neared us, his fingers skimming across the top of E.J.'s signature wild and crazy hair. And just when his fingers touched the downy spikes I knew so well, past and present and future began to slip and slide; their fragile layers would collapse together if I so much as relaxed a pinkie.

Around us, the protective arms of my home held us. I listened hard for her voice whispering from its walls. _Let go, Sookie_. I remembered Gran and me releasing those crisp, clean sheets to the ocean breezes. I pictured myself sinking back into the dark waters of the pond. And I wondered if Gran would be right this time, too.

* * *

**A/N** It's beyond the scope of this story—and my expertise—to delve into environmental issues and law. Cape Wind is a real project, first proposed in 2001, which would be the first offshore wind farm in the U.S.. Technically, in real life the New England Medicinal Leech is labeled a "Species of Concern," but I simply couldn't resist using it here. ;)

Thanks for reading! I have one more chapter planned, in the form of a very long epilogue.


	21. Epilogue: Summer's End

**A/N**: I'll keep this brief and get all of my chatter out here so I don't clutter up the ending…Special thanks to the people who have kindly helped me with this story, and to everyone who's read it and stuck it out here to the end. (Yay! and *sniff*) And thank you to LauraBF for surprising me with a lovely banner, which is linked on my profile page.

I may still have more to say about this story in the form of outtakes, but for now, I'm heading with the vamps to Amish country to work on my other story, Bird in Hand. Hope to see you there. ;)

**Disclaimer: **All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris, and I'm thankful she allows us to borrow them. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England one more time.

**Recap of previous chapter:** L.L. discloses Lorena's development plans to Sookie and offers information to help sell her house. Sookie gratefully accepts the information, but comes up with an alternative idea. Eric unexpectedly shows up with some research that might help her. He softens to E.J., reaching for his wild, spiky hair, and Sookie opens to taking a risk with him.

* * *

Epilogue: **Summer's End**

"I hate this weather!"

Stepping out of Dr. Ludwig's office into the remnants of Tropical Storm Indira, still blowing with gusto, I struggled to control my inside-out umbrella. Giving up any hope of actually using it, I almost managed to get it folded when another strong gust blew my dress up, Marilyn Monroe style.

Shoving it down, I looked nothing like a sexy movie star. No, with my hair drooping in straggly strands, and my feet squishing and squeaking in their flip-flops, and my makeup streaking down my face (I was sure of it), I looked exactly like Sookie Stackhouse, half-drowned pregnant woman.

But I was covered. Yes, during this pregnancy, I'd made certain that my elastic had kept its spring to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions. I was fully swathed. Under wraps. Protected.

Thanks to the Spanx. _Power_ _panties for the power mama_, they were called. I'm not making this up. _No visible panty lines_, the description read, and_ moderate control_. They resembled bicycle shorts, extending from the very top of The Mountain down to mid thigh. I'd taken charge, I…

_Sweet Jesus, I was wearing performance underwear, encased like an overstuffed linguiça._

Tossing my mangled umbrella into a trash can, I wrapped my arms around The Mountain and squished and squeaked to my car, parked behind Merlotte's. Sam had taken down the front awning in preparation for the storm, so the typical lunch crowd hadn't gathered there. In fact, the crowd seemed pretty thin inside, so it seemed like a good time to stop by to chat with him and give him my news.

Jason was there, looking positively lonesome all by himself in a booth. "For Pete's sake, Sookie! What are you doing out today?" He stood and gave me a peck on the cheek. "You want to join me?"

I eyed the booth suspiciously, wondering whether I'd fit. He watched while I squatted down to the edge of the seat, then angled and maneuvered myself until I was good and wedged into position.

"Wow, that's some operation."

I decided to ignore him because his clam chowder looked really good. Nodding at his bowl, I asked, "How is it today?"

He must have been feeling extremely generous, or in need of something, because he pushed the entire bowl to me. "Here, have it. Sam's got American Chop Suey on the menu. Special." He waggled his eyebrows. It was his favorite.

I was glad he hadn't added the oyster crackers yet, because nothing botches up a good bowl of clam chowder like a soggy mess of cracker bits.

"So you must be getting close." Jason prompted.

Everyone had been saying that to me ever since The Mountain had popped months ago. "Close" was always relative to a pregnant woman, depending on the situation. Birth seemed only moments away when you were trying to ready everything—setting up the crib and stocking the nursery, figuring out childcare arrangements, and saving for college, to name a few.

At other times, birth seemed eons away.

Like when the baby was crowning.

I shrugged. I skipped over the gory details and the fact that I was at 37 weeks, which would mean nothing to him. "I think I probably have a few more weeks."

Dr. Ludwig had monkeyed around quite a bit when my feet were in the stirrups today, and had emerged telling me I was _only_ a centimeter dilated and 0% effaced, which had made me feel a bit like an underachiever. Also, she had warned me that my blood pressure was creeping up slightly, and that I was to stay off my feet and rest, the real downer.

My spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, which didn't escape Jason's attention. "Sam makes good clam chowder, huh?"

"Thanks for the treat." It had gone down quite easily, only now I was wondering whether it would stay there. "You been busy?"

"Not too bad. Storm ended up being a dud. We had a few fallen branches we needed to clear from roadways. A few stopped up storm drains. But overall it's been slow."

"Guess we dodged another bullet."

"Oh, man, people got whipped up about it, you know?"

I nodded. Locals had descended on the stores buying last minute storm supplies. "Remember how Gran used to poke fun at the French Toast Crowd?"

Jason laughed. "Milk, eggs, and bread."

"Did you get your peanut butter?"

He laughed again. "Gran taught us well." Following one storm when our power had been out for several days, Gran had fed Jason and me crackers and peanut butter, canned fruit, cereal with powdered milk, raisins, and granola bars. She'd had enough to last for weeks; we'd all been _really glad_ when the power had been restored.

"You got Spam too, didn't you?" Spam had never been on Gran's list of emergency supplies, but Jason used any excuse to buy it.

"Hoyt's coming over tonight for grilled Spam. Hey! That reminds me…" Jason dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, from which he removed a photo. "Maxine Fortenberry found this and passed it along."

I looked down and laughed at the motley group. There stood Gran with Maxine, Everlee Mason, and Velda Cannon in front of her house.

"Do you know when this was taken, Jason?"

He shook his head.

"That was the day I took them into Boston to walk the Freedom Trail. We made it to the Granary Burying Grounds and no further."

"Too long a walk?"

"Oh, they had plenty of energy. They just didn't want to leave the graveyard." On that pleasantly cool fall day, I'd had no idea how much energy a group of senior women would have for reading old gravestone markers. "That was also the day Velda's dentures cracked, and she stuffed them in her purse. We ended up in a nearby Brigham's for coffee and ice cream."

He grimaced. "You always had more patience for that stuff."

I shrugged. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Looking at the photo, I realized with a start that Gran was the only one who had died. I pushed the photo back to him, but he refused.

"You keep it. I figured you'd want it since it was taken in front of Fintan's house."

In Jason's mind, the house still belonged to Fintan, someone only peripherally related to our family. Though he'd never known Grandpa Mitchell, he was connected to him through family lore. And his baseball card collection. I'd never had the heart to tell him otherwise, reasoning that for as strong as my suspicions were, they lacked solid proof.

Maybe I was wrong, but it was a secret I was willing to keep for him.

I was starting to think it was nice having this little chat with my brother when he suddenly leapt out of the booth, calling, "Michele!"

I turned to see Michele Schubert peeling off her dripping slicker. I guessed our brother-sister moment was done, which freed me up to look for Sam. "Thanks, Jason," I called over my shoulder, holding up the picture. I waved to Michele.

On the way to Sam's office, feeling a bit crampy and queasy, I stopped by the bathroom and discovered how tricky performance underwear operates when your skin is damp. I was spotting a bit too, which made me cranky that Dr. Ludwig had done all that tinkering down there. I did my best to tidy up my hair and makeup before giving up on it.

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten all of that clam chowder.

I found Sam sitting at his desk. "Come in! Sit down!" He bolted out of his seat. No one seemed to like to sit near me these days if I was standing. It was like they couldn't relax or something if I wasn't sitting too. Everyone wanted me to take a seat. Except E.J..

Now it looked like they'd get their wish.

"I can't work anymore," I informed Sam, not wasting any time with preliminary chit-chat.

He looked visibly relieved. "Of course, of course. Everything okay?" He nodded at The Mountain. He'd steadfastly kept his hands off of it during this pregnancy, which actually had ended up being more awkward.

I hefted a foot up. "I'm starting to swell. Dr. Ludwig doesn't want me on my feet." I skipped the blood pressure bit.

Sam's eyes flickered toward my puffy ankles and sausage toes—I was glad they were at least nicely pedicured, thanks to Eric's artistic skills—then flickered away rapidly, then back again, holding steady, as though he were daring himself to look at something gruesome. "They don't look bad. I mean, of course I believe you need to stay off your feet, but…" He scrambled, his eyes jumping about the room wildly, seemingly looking for some miraculous conversation-shifting cue. "Hey, how 'bout I get you some clam chowder?"

At the mention of clam chowder, I rapidly held up my hand. "Thank you, but Jason shared a bowl with me."

My cell phone rang. _Eric. _"Sorry, Sam."

He watched studiously while I took the call.

"Hello?"

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, I'll fill you in later. I had to stop by the diner for a minute." In the background, I could hear E.J. crying. "What's wrong?"

"He keeps asking me for apple hammers, and when I ask him what he means, he tells me they're apples and pretzels, but when I get out the pretzels and apples, he does his wet noodle thing on the floor."

Ew. Meltdown status. "He wants apple chunks and pretzel sticks. He likes to make hammers out of them."

"Hammers?"

"He sticks the pretzels in the apples."

"Really? Hammers?"

"You know how desperate we get some days."

There was a long silence. Well, it was silent except for E.J. still crying in the background. I could definitely commiserate with Eric's frustration. "He's probably extra cranky about being cooped up in the storm."

"Any trouble getting around?"

"I didn't have any trouble. No major flooding. No trees or power lines down. You could take him to that Children's Museum in Clareham."

"I'll probably take him out to dinner too, unless you had something planned."

"That's fine." I was about to try to sneak in a "goodbye-have-fun-I-love-you" when I realized he'd already hung up. Phone etiquette had never been Eric's forte.

Sam was still watching.

"Sorry. E.J.'s a little stir crazy. How are things here?"

"Mostly quiet, like it is now. Guess everyone stayed home for the storm. We had a few people asking for one of your tables."

"Everyone have a place to go?"

"Yeah. I think they were people who hadn't heard yet."

"We'll probably have some stragglers over the next few months."

Sam nodded. Over the past few years, we'd had a growing number of people coming in for meals and other services, well beyond what we'd been set up to offer, especially with my attentions diverted toward my house struggle. When a new community center had opened in the closed Catholic church next to the elementary school, I funneled most of the remaining chunk of Gran's money into the project, which meant that the meal program at Merlotte's had officially closed, though we'd never turn away anyone in need.

Sam's silence was making me uncomfortable. "It's for the best," I added. That was the truth. All of those people could be better served elsewhere.

"Sookie…"

I smiled brightly to stop him from his lecture about returning to school. "I'll get there, Sam." When money and time had permitted, I'd taken a few more courses. The end goal of finishing my degree was still in sight, but the route getting there would have to be circuitous.

It was my turn to abruptly change the subject. "Thanks for all your help with the clam bake last week."

He shook his head. "Sorry about the potatoes. It's tough to judge the timing."

"No! Everyone had fun."

"Congratulations again."

"I feel fortunate I can host."

"You've got the perfect party spot now," he teased.

"Great, so you'll get the potatoes just right next year," I rejoined as I moved to stand. After a little bit of heaving I was upright. "Hopefully we'll be lucky enough to dodge the hurricane again."

By the time I got home, the house was empty and quiet, except for the occasional creak or groan. I stopped for a few minutes to listen.

The underwear needed to go.

With great relish, I peeled them off and stuffed them in the trashcan—freed. On the whole spectrum of privacy and modesty, there was bare-bottomed flagrancy on one, ah, end, and uptight prudery on the other. I shuffled off to find an old friendly pair of underwear with comfortably relaxed elastic. A nap sounded good too. I was about to climb in bed when the tip of my favorite wide-tooth comb peeking out from under the bed caught my attention. I'd been looking for that. Kneeling down with some effort, I grabbed it and pulled. It snagged on a pair of Jockeys too. Eric was going through his own stage in underwear experimentation.

And then since I was already halfway there, I lay down fully on my side, awkwardly, to see what else I could extricate. I'd uncovered a time capsule full of items dropped bedside, only to be kicked under, layer upon layer. Closest to the edge of the bed, I found my newest, very sturdy nursing bra, ready for action, but not very sexy in my opinion, even though the peek-a-boo flaps had apparently been a huge turn-on. Beyond that, I snagged an old friend, a Garfield nightshirt that always fit, pregnant or not.

To reach any further, I'd need a yardstick or something, and noticing all the dust, I decided to find a broom. I stopped by the bathroom first, for good measure, and came out cursing Dr. Ludwig. But eventually, I made my way down to the hidey hole for the dust mop, before returning to my spot on the floor. _Whew_. Did I mention how awkward this was wedged on my side? I longed for the day when I could lie flat on my belly, if it was ever flat again.

For starters, I snagged my favorite lacey blue bra, startlingly small and delicate. It was too bad that it wouldn't fit anymore, at least not for now. The matching blue panties were probably pushed to the back of my underwear drawer. Once or twice, I might have actually matched…

…"_Yah-Yah! Yah-Yah, watch me fly!"_

Oops.

The blue bra had snagged on the fairy wings L.L. had given E.J.. For a while, he'd worn them day and night, wearing us all out with his boundless leaping energy. I'd had extremely uncharitable thoughts toward L.L., finally sending the two of them down to the beach, where E.J. had turned himself into a scary water fairy with gobs of seaweed hair. L.L. had run from him until E.J. stopped suddenly, dumped the seaweed off his head, sucked in his lower lip, in that serious way of his, and said, "Yah-Yah! It's me. E.J.."

Yeah. I should probably keep the fairy wings hidden. Chasing a resurgent fairy with The Mountain parked on my bladder would not be fun.

Speaking of which, I was feeling crampy and queasy again. I'd been able to angle the mop to slide out an old textbook. Grabbing it, I dusted it off and trudged once again to the bathroom.

_Helping_. This one was called. _A Guide to the Therapeutic Relationship. _It contained pearls of wisdom demonstrating how to maintain eye contact, listen with "all the senses," ask open-ended, probing questions, and remain non-judgmental. Pretty basic stuff. Plus nearly a third of the book had been devoted to Maintaining Professional Boundaries, which, under the instruction of my male professor, had essentially boiled down to _don't have sex with your client. _

I rolled my eyes. _Men and their professional boundaries._

Flipping to the back cover, I noticed I'd paid $79.95 for the text, full-price, as the instructor had recommended the brand new edition, which had really stuck in my craw. This textbook material had seemed so far removed from reality, I'd had trouble connecting with it.

_You don't have to always like the rules to play the game,_ Gran had counseled me more than once. Maybe this was one of those situations.

Truthfully, working at the diner wasn't the same anymore with all of the meal guests gone, and I wasn't qualified to work in any position I'd enjoy at the new community center. I'd need to finish up my degree. With the house battle pushed to the back burner, I didn't know what was standing in my way other than myself. Well, and then there was The Mountain, too.

I returned to the bedroom and left the textbook out on my nightstand. We'd have to do some juggling to make it work in the family_, _and I would need to initiate that conversation before Baby Two came along.

Exhausted and a little weepy too—damn hormones—I resignedly scooted down to finish what I started, sliding the mop back and forth. From the far corner, I pulled out a tangle of red silk boxers, my embroidered robe, and a pair of skimpy-looking panties.

* * *

_With a final tug of clothing, I lay naked next to his bare body. Beneath my window, a cool night breeze from the ocean slipped across us, portending fall. Nearly gone, summer had scuttled by surreptitiously, right underneath my nose. Or maybe I'd been looking elsewhere._

_I'd had plenty of places to look—managing extra hours at the diner, burying myself beneath a mountain of paperwork and phone calls and legal actions related to my home, and being pursued by one very focused man. _

_And of course, there'd been E.J.. Watching E.J.'s growing up before my eyes had made time skip like a thin, flat rock flicked across smooth water. At nearly six months-old—half a year!—his latest parlor trick was sitting on his own. There were the occasional mishaps, of course, as his coordination and balance and muscles developed. Sometimes he tuckered out, got distracted, or seemed to forget that holding himself upright was his own job, not the duty of some outstretched cosmic hand. As a result, there were instances when he'd suddenly landed backward—flat out—with a disoriented, astonished look on his face that expressed, "How the hell did that happen?" _

_I'd wondered that myself on occasion. _

_On that particular evening, though, we'd arrived there eyes wide open, fully understanding the course we were following. Over the span of the summer, Eric had pursued an intense courtship I'd call old-fashioned if it weren't for the fact that I knew he was fixing to get laid._

_He could be oh so patient. And persistent. And so convincing that my inner retro virgin was beginning to stretch, limber up, and feel a randy little pluck._

_That night, he'd taken me to the Wellfleet Drive-In, yet another date in a whole string of them. At the end of the movie, we'd simply driven to my house, parked, kissed, messed around a bit, and somewhere along the way, by the time he'd slipped a hand inside my shirt, I'd invited him in for more. There had been no sudden realization or illuminating insight, but rather a warm, steadily-building glow of desire and a growing level of trust and acceptance that at some point had tipped the balance in our favor. We'd come home to roost. _

_After some more groping, quiet stumbling up dark, twisty steps, and shuffling of clothes, we were here, paused in our action._

"_We'll have to be quiet, okay?"_

_He grinned. "Go ahead and try."_

"_No, I mean it…you don't want to wake up E.J.." I shuddered at the thought of having to walk the floor with him, our happy moment interrupted._

"_Octavia."_

"_Yeah. Her too. She's got the hearing of a bat." I was realizing how much our private moments would have to be carefully constructed._

"_Won't she check if she hears E.J. crying?"_

"_Not at night. It's my job at night."_

_Eric's fingers were lightly skimming up and down my body—out, in, out—following the defined outline of my now-enhanced curves. There was a bit more of me to love, compared to last summer. We were both different, for that matter. Things around us had changed, too._

_Restraint had never been needed in the shack, where the roaring surf and muffling dunes had silenced our panted moans and exclamations. Sex had happened whenever it suited our desires, unimpeded by anyone else's schedule or sensibilities. "Do you miss the shack?"_

_He pressed against me, reminding me that I was lying next to a naked, very ready man._

"_Oh." I reached down for him and enjoyed watching his head fall back, eyes closed. We could be carefree in a new way with each other, in a way that hadn't been possible then. Trailing my fingers at the nape of his neck, I tugged at the elastic tie holding his neat ponytail in place. When we were good and done, I'd take thrill in his tangled, messy hair, beautiful. _

_His eyes opened and swept over me from head to toe. "I know you." _

_He wasn't talking about my body, which had changed in ways unfamiliar to him. We held each others' once-had-beens, our past selves, fragile beings requiring care and respect. We'd become full partners, engaged in knowing and being known. _

_I fidgeted a bit, not under his gaze, but from the tickling drops of milk dripping from my breasts. "They're uncontrollable," I laughed, moving to dry myself with the sheet. He stopped me, leaning forward instead to kiss and lick the streams. I gripped the back of his head. _

"_You taste sweet." _

_Like a cupcake atop crossbones. His and hers. We matched._

_We'd seen each others' scars. Almost as if he knew what I was thinking, Eric followed a stream of milk to my belly, where he traced the silvery paths permanently etched in my skin by The Mountain._

_Yes, this was me. I'd seen his scars too, cutting just as deep as my own._

_His tongue ventured lower, reminding me how much of my body had changed. _

_Had I startled? He'd stopped and seemed to be waiting, his cheek resting on my thigh._

_Would I feel different to him? Would it hurt? "E.J. was a big baby," I explained. Unexpectedly, nervousness had nudged me. _

_His hand trailed inside my thighs, lightly stroking. "Do you trust me?" _

_He'd asked me that once in a dark alley, when the thrill of the unknown had exhilarated and frightened me.  
_

"_Yes." I didn't hesitate, even though he still brought me fear and excitement. Our trust had grown, gradually, from opening to each other. _

_He came up for a kiss, mouths parted, deep and full. I felt it everywhere. Pulling back, his summery eyes met mine._

_I could open wide to him without splitting apart. Shifting beneath him, I relaxed my thighs, and pulled the bulk of his body, warm and alive, onto me. Braced over me, he could easily crush me if he brought the full weight of himself down. Matching his thrusts, I let go with all my might._

* * *

"Sookie! Sookie!"

"Mmm…"

"Sookie! Are you all right?"

"Mm-hmm…" Freed from the weight of The Mountain in my dreams, I turned to move as though unencumbered. I got stuck.

"Sookie!"

"Hmm?" _How had rolling become so difficult?_

Gentle hands pushed on my shoulder. I reached to press my hand atop his.

"Sookie, it's me."

Feeling a chill, I tugged on a blanket, which seemed to be caught. Opening my eyes, I found myself looking up at a very serious L.L., his lips pursed into a thin, hard line. The comforting lull of drowsiness slipped off me like a sheet of water down a window pane, in one gliding swipe. "Yah!" My eyes flew open to their fully awake state. "What's wrong?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sure." Aside from the fact that I was still struggling to turn over and get up. I supposed it was a little unusual finding a pregnant woman sleeping halfway underneath her bed. "I was cleaning and must have fallen asleep."

He bent down to support me while I pushed myself up ungracefully.

It all happened a little too fast, which made my head spin and brought an uncomfortably urgent feeling of wooziness over me. While L.L. sat down on the edge of the bed, looking relieved, I made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" L.L. called out.

"Clam chowder," I said, by way of explanation. L.L. had never been skittish about those kinds of things, plus he'd seen me vomit more than once. Morning sickness had been a killer this time around.

I was in the process of brushing my teeth when I noticed L.L. hovering in the hallway, looking serious again.

"What's wrong."

"There's a problem."

"Yeah?" I spat.

"Outside."

I rinsed out my mouth. He could never come out with these things directly, taking a meandering course instead. He'd get to his point eventually.

"Octavia's not here, is she?"

Wiping my mouth with a towel, I shook my head. "Uh-uh." She was visiting relatives, taking a break before the baby arrived.

"Come with me." L.L. held his arm out, guiding me to the window in Octavia's room, which faced the side yard.

Beyond the porch extension, the lawn was covered with small branches, sticks, pine cones, and piles of leaves that had blown down prematurely. We'd need to do a lot of extra yard work before our lives filled with newborn challenges once again, but it was nothing unusual after a storm such as this.

And then I saw it. _Sweet Jesus._

It wasn't what I was expecting. Sure, we'd been prepared for the possibility of the storm to wreak havoc, but not…this.

"Oh…" I leaned against the window frame. We both looked out again, stunned. "He's not gonna like that. At all."

L.L. nodded in agreement.

There, on the seashell-lined guest parking spot across the lawn, Indira had dealt her blow to Eric's beloved car—yes, his red Corvette—snapping a large limb cleanly from a towering tree trunk and dropping it directly across the car hood, practically cleaving in half. I felt nauseated…

…and made a quick dash to the bathroom, quick being relative, of course. L.L. followed behind a minute later.

He waited, again, while I brushed my teeth. Again. "Come on downstairs. I'll make you a cup of mint tea."

"I have no way of calling to warn him."

"He lose his cell phone again?"

I winced and nodded. "E.J.." He'd yanked a towel out of the swim bag, flinging goggles, diving rings, a rubber duck, and Eric's cell phone into the deep end of the community pool.

"Where did they go?"

"To that indoor playground and children's museum in Clareham."

"Could you call there?"

"I could, but there's nothing any of us can do about it right now. And he'll just get cranky around E.J.."

He nodded. "When are they due?"

"After dinner."

"Give them some more time, then."

"Right." I sat down uneasily at the kitchen table, wondering what it would be like for Eric to come home to the sight of his car smashed under a lopped tree branch.

Worse, I knew we were headed for some intense discussions on the practicality of owning three cars—two old cars and a Corvette—with a newborn and a pre-schooler. It would be the perfect opportunity to buy a nice family car. The Corvette had never been practical. Sure, it had been fun, I supposed, but we couldn't go anywhere in it with E.J. or a newborn because of the car seat issue. We could sell of one of the old cars, for whatever it was worth, if anything, and use the insurance money from the Corvette to buy something family-friendly.

Oh, but he was going to be grumpy about not replacing it, even if it made reasonable sense. Maybe if I first proposed a minivan, which I knew he'd hate, I could get him to agree to some kind of sporty sedan. Or hadn't he been admiring a Cadillac or a Lincoln? One of those could probably work for us.

As I weighed my plan of attack, L.L. put the kettle on the stove and got out mugs and tea bags. "Party seemed to go well last week."

"I think so too."

He sat next to me, quietly, facing the pond.

"It seems like a long time ago already, doesn't it?"

He held still, waiting.

"Well, and then everyone got excited about the hurricane possibility."

We were both looking out at the pond. I was glad we'd planned a celebration. Victories never come without a cost, and when the afterglow fades, the costs become more noticeable and grow in strength.

"Did you ever think things would turn out like this?"

He shrugged. "It's hard to say."

He stood to pour the water and returned with our mugs. We both set to stirring with great intent. I suspected his thoughts were following mine, pondering the course we'd chosen.

Finally, he spoke. "Nothing's ever perfect, is it? That makes me appreciate certain things more."

I nodded.

"But I wish we hadn't had to involve Russell. That's my biggest regret."

I regretted Russell too. Russell enjoyed reminding others of the power he held over them.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. The mug felt warm in my hands. I brought it up to my nose to sniff the mint, soothing. The Mountain shifted and heaved. I shifted too, annoyed by the heavy achiness in my back.

L.L. set his mug down and turned deliberately toward me. "Sookie, don't get between Eric and Russell. Let Eric figure that one out."

"There's no simple answer there."

The problem was that Eric didn't think too clearly about Russell, their history so complicated. Still, I knew L.L. had a point, and I wasn't quite sure how to position myself with Eric. Family relationships could be so complicated, like with Jason and me. For as much as Jason irritated me, he was my brother, my only blood tie aside from E.J., and for as much as I complained to Eric about Jason, I didn't appreciate his trashing Jason to me. Russell and Eric were even more complicated.

"Has Eric had any more luck?"

"He's had a few more inquiries. Selling that loft in the SoWa district helped." Eric had purchased and renovated the space, modern and industrial, after his falling out with Sophie-Anne, when I'd been pregnant with E.J.. "But he's itching for some new clients."

"He loves his work." L.L. knew there was something more there, but hadn't been able to figure exactly what it was. He was delicately fishing, looking for an angle.

I nodded, unable to share with L.L. the private details of how complicated Eric's relationship with his work had been, right from the beginning, when he'd been taken under the much too familiar wing of the architecture firm of Ocella & Associates.

"And Lorena's reach is far and wide." He was still fishing.

I offered up a diversion. "So is Sophie-Anne's. Eric's burned more than one bridge." Sophie-Anne had yet to budge over their non-compete clause.

"Do you regret anything?"

I laughed, rubbing The Mountain. "We have a knack for bad timing, don't we?"

"But things work out. E.J.'s a fine young boy."

"He loves you, you know."

"And I'm lucky." L.L. set his mug in front of him with a sense of finality.

"Hey, how did things turn out with Danielle?"

His expression turned pinched. "I might have made a tactical error."

I groaned to myself, having been unaware I'd be blundering into unhappy territory. Eric had set out fixedly, intent on pairing up L.L. with someone to keep him from sliding back into anything with Lorena. I'd suspected Eric had also wanted to take some of L.L.'s attentions away from me, too. In any case, Eric had gotten moody at every one of L.L.'s numerous failed dating attempts.

"What happened?" Danielle had sounded so interested, I'd been certain they'd have a good time together.

"I called. We chatted for a while."

"That sounds nice."

"Yes. And then she invited me to go out with her."

"Oh." L.L. could be a little bit old-fashioned and uptight, and I wondered whether he'd thought Danielle too forward.

He held up his hand. "I was okay with that."

"All right." He was dragging things out again.

"She suggested we go to a place called the Hoppin' Bod."

"Where?"

"The Hoppin' Bod." He grimaced. And waited.

_The Hoppin' Bod? _It sounded familiar. _The Hoppin' Bod?_

"You don't mean..." I clamped my hand over my mouth.

"Go on. Go on and say it."

A laugh escaped in spite of my best efforts to keep it contained. "The _Harp and Bard?"_

L.L. rolled his eyes, which might have been a first. I reached over to touch his arm. "How in the world..."

He shrugged. "I didn't realize my mistake until later, when I was talking with a colleague."

"So what about Danielle?"

"I didn't say it, but it seemed a bit unseemly for a first date, so I suggested the film festival instead. She said she'd check her calendar and get back to me, but never did."

"Aw. Let me talk to her and explain. Put in a good word. It was an honest mistake. She'll think it's sweet."

He shrugged. I wasn't sure whether to take that as a forget-about-it or a go-ahead. In any case, I'd let the matter drop until a bit later. We sipped our tea in silence. Well, mostly I simply smelled mine, since the scent seemed to be working better than the actual taste on my queasy stomach. I'd have to think some more on L.L.'s dating options.

Suddenly, I needed to make another "dash" for the bathroom. L.L. dutifully followed.

"Something's not right." The tightening of my midsection that I'd thought was a Braxton Hicks contraction or the heaving tug of nausea built steadily without abating, hard enough to knock the breath out of me and stop me in my tracks.

"Oohh!"

"Is it the claw?"

"No," I gasped. "It's the vice."

"The vice?" L.L. was clearly alarmed. "Want me to call Dr. Ludwig?" His hold on my arm tightened.

I stood up straight, relieved. "Whew…No, give it a few minutes. They'll only tell me to wait anyway. I was just there this morning." I waddled out to the parlor very tentatively—not wanting to encourage any more vice-like action—and sat down in the Green Monster with my feet propped up. _There. That oughta do it. I'd be fine now._ Only then I started to think about the things that I'd need to do if I went into labor. Three weeks from my delivery date, I wasn't prepared. My overnight bag wasn't packed. I hadn't lined up babysitting for E.J.. Well, Octavia and I had talked about it, but she was away now.

"Could you try getting in touch with Eric at the children's museum? If I end up going into the hospital, I don't want him bringing E.J. by. Course I don't know where E.J. can go without Octavia here. Maybe Tara can help. We should call Tara first. Or wait a minute…could you take E.J.?"

My brain was feeling a bit foggy. I wasn't even sure if L.L. answered. I pushed myself up out of the Green Monster. Didn't I at least start to make a list? I wasn't into the complicated birth plans with candles and special music, which didn't sound very practical to me. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Hair brush and extra elastic ties. I'd want a robe to cover up the ugly hospital gown. A going home outfit for the baby. Something for me too. I could probably stash all of those things in my new diaper bag. I grabbed it and stuffed my purse inside.

_Damn_. I'd wanted to stock up the cabinet for Octavia with some of E.J.'s favorites. I could leave a list on the counter. We needed pretzel sticks for sure. I opened the pantry door. And maybe some…

….Another contraction coiled around me hard and yanked. I started to sit, realized that wasn't going to do me any good, and then paced restlessly, hoping I'd be able to walk away from the pain. The pain would surely go away, right?

It did…eventually. I smiled brightly. _There._ "I'm fine."

"Sookie, that was only three minutes."

"No, I'm sure that was at least five."

L.L. held up his black sports watch. From a distance, I could see its stream of numbers flickering. Jesus, was he the official time keeper?

"I'm calling." He moved purposefully toward the phone.

"Give it one more. I'll sit down again. Sometimes that slows things down. It might even stop." I prayed it would. I wasn't ready.

But as I was walking to the Green Monster again, my water broke. Actually, it gushed, leaving no doubt that I was, in fact, in labor.

L.L.'s mouth formed a silent 'oh' before he sprang into action. He reached for me, but all I wanted to do was hunker down and brace myself for what I knew would be a mother of a contraction, that first one after my water broke. I started to lower myself. He had other plans.

"No, no, Sookie. Let's head out to the car." I'm sure he was wondering what he was gonna do with 150 pounds of mama (give or take a few) hunkered on the floor. Meanwhile, that mean contraction gripped me, clenching its fist and squeezing brutally. Maybe L.L. had tried to stop me, but the next thing I knew, I was down on my hands and knees.

The pain wasn't going away.

L.L. grabbed the phone. In the background, down a long, hollow tunnel, I could hear him calling the hospital. The absurdity of it all washed over me, that here I was, alone with L.L., once again, about to give birth.

When the vice finally loosened a bit, I choked out, "Call Bart."

"What's his number?"

I called it out. "Ask him to track down Eric."

I managed to stand on my own. I shuffled gingerly to the kitchen, grabbed a tea towel to wipe my legs, and plodded over to the hidey hole.

L.L. intercepted me, already on his cell phone with Bart.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a trash bag."

"For what?"

"Your car."

He still looked blank.

"I'll wreck your seats." It was an important point to me.

L.L. turned back to his cell phone, gave me the "wait-a-minute" sign with his finger, and then reached for a trash bag. "It's the children's museum in Clareham," he was explaining to Bart. His hand on my elbow, he ushered me toward the door as he juggled his cell phone, watch, and a garbage bag in the other. I moved in the direction of the steps. "Just a minute," he said to Bart, and then to me, "Where are you going?"

"Dry underwear," I muttered. It was yet another important point to me, though admittedly my brain was a bit foggy, and the steps looked awfully long and tricky.

But L.L. tugged me toward the door, and I didn't argue as a contraction cranked me in its vice. He glanced at his watch. "Still about three minutes," he said to Bart. "If you can't get him at the museum, I'd try Burger Barn…No, don't bother. E.J. doesn't like their french fries…No, Eric hates the clown there…Ah…no…I don't think you should send Russell to the hospital." He looked at me with a questioning, panicked look. My midsection still being squeezed, I managed to shake my head vigorously. L.L. spoke again into his phone. "No. Uh…let him wait at home. Those waiting rooms are tiny. Really uncomfortable chairs." He shrugged his shoulders at me. "All right. Have him call my cell phone…Mm-hmm…I'll give you an update as soon as I can."

I stood up fully and remembered my new diaper bag, grabbing it as L.L. said goodbye.

"He says to tell you he's looking forward to meeting his first granddaughter."

I laughed. "He wishes. Bart appreciates any reason to buy something pink and frilly."

L.L. snorted. "Better than a leather good."

"Have you seen my new diaper bag?" I held out the intricate straps on my bag, studded.

"Is that…"

I nodded. "From the back of Bart's store. Modified."

I'd managed to position myself in the front seat of L.L.'s car, no small feat with my bum slipping on a Hefty garbage bag.

"You gotta get me there in time, okay?"

L.L. nodded.

"I don't want this baby delivered by a Massachusetts State Trooper."

He nodded again, looking very serious, indeed.

"And don't let me scream like I did last time."

Paused at a rotary, he gave me a quick glance. "You really want me to stop you from screaming?"

"Yes. It's embarrassing." I was still convinced Eric would make it there in time anyway.

Once in the rotary, L.L. waved a car through ahead of him.

"Look at that!" I grunted, halfway through a contraction. "They should at least wave."

"Wave?"

"You let him in. He should give you the thank you wave."

The contraction gave one last harsh twist, which brought down a different reality. "Dammit, why are you waving through everyone and his brother? Let's get to the hospital!"

Once we arrived, things were pretty much a blur as I felt my own mental state slip, with contractions piling on top of each other. I noticed strange things in great detail, such as L.L.'s keys sailing through the air toward the parking attendant. "Good catch!" I told him.

The man who would push my wheelchair, called me "Mama." "Hop on board, Mama," he said, "Let's take you for a ride."

L.L. guided me to the seat of the waiting wheelchair, tan, like a coffee with two creams. I sat on café au lait…¡Olé!...

…Bring it! I could do this. The cords of a contraction drew straight through me, cinching my waist—I was sure of it—back to its wasp-like state. But no, The Mountain held there resolutely. Maybe I couldn't do this.

The flash of passing caught my attention. In the corridor, the tiled walls with their lettered signs flickered by like an animated cartoon. A pregnant woman linking arms with her partner moseyed away from us, in the direction of the exit, looking very calm. It wasn't their time, I guessed. I wanted their time slot instead. I wanted _my_ partner with me, too. _Where was he?_

A woman in black pumps clicked past holding a bundle of balloons. I couldn't see her face, hidden behind a whole heap of red and yellow ones that jostled each other. I remembered their quiet, muffled bumping noises most.

"Your shoe," I said to L.L., as though an unfastened shoelace was the most important thing in the world.

A little yelp escaped my mouth. I couldn't keep my backside down on the wheelchair, but lifting it up did little good. The pressure was so intense, I needed to push. Surely pushing would help. I gripped the arms of the wheelchair.

"Hold on there, Mama," the man behind me prompted.

"Let's go," I encouraged him. I expected him to take me on a racing kind of ride, but instead he kept up his steadily plodding pace and began whistling an aimless, meandering kind of tune at great odds with my pain. A dramatic orchestral number with powerful drum beats would have been more fitting. Yes, something from _Last of the Mohicans._ Where was my Daniel Day-Lewis?

* * *

"_Eric!" My chest thumped with pounding drums. Trapped in my dawdling wheelchair, I faced a never-ending maze of corridors. _

"_Sookie!" His voice echoed from the cold, sterile surfaces surrounding us. _

_Where was he? "Eric!"_

"_Sookie!"_

"_Eric?" This was getting us nowhere. _

"_I will find you!" _

_Frustrated, I stomped my foot on its rest, wishing it were a gas pedal. "Faster!" I called to the man behind me. _

"_I'm trying!" Eric called. "If it's the last thing I do…"_

"_No! I mean…aargh!" I jerked my body forward, trying to speed the wheelchair along. "Can't you make this thing go faster?" _

_The driver paused his whistling. "Hold on there, Mama," he drawled. _

_I struggled to shove myself out of the chair. "Eric!" Where was he? He'd save me, wouldn't he? I groaned in the clutch of a contraction._

_And then suddenly, he rounded the corner, heading straight for me. His long, golden mane trailed behind him as he bounded down the hall for me, the loose fabric of his tunic gaping open to reveal a V of bare flesh and rippling muscles. Stopping at nothing to get to me, he took down a candy striper, shoved aside an old man in a walker, and barreled through a group of physicians with their noses in charts. As paperwork scattered around him, he vaulted over first one "Caution Wet Floor/ Cuidado Piso Mojado" sign and then yet another, to come skidding at my feet._

"_I found you!" he announced. Hefting the bulk of me into his arms, he grunted. _

* * *

Right. The music probably wouldn't have done any good.

Had we ridden in an elevator? We must have, because I'd ended up high in the treetops. Up here, I noticed, the very top of the sugar maples were barely tinged with color. What's more, everyone was looking at me. Somewhere along the way, I'd exchanged my clothes for a hospital gown and gotten up on the delivery table, my body slightly crooked, askew, as though I hadn't had enough energy to straighten myself out.

L.L. had taken his familiar position on my left side. On my other side, a cute nurse with striking red hair was pulling a belt tightly around my belly. "I'm Nurse Hahteh."

I shuddered at how L.L. might mangle that name and turned to him to translate. "That's Nurse Harter." But he was looking in the direction of my feet, where, I was glad to note again, my pedicure was holding up nicely. And thank goodness I'd shaved my legs this morning.

A woman at the bottom of the delivery table was introducing herself. "I'm Dr. Sonntag."

That's when it really hit me: everyone was there except the one person who mattered most.

"I can wait," I said through shaky tears and pain.

"The father isn't here," L.L. offered in explanation. He was smiling at the doctor. "I'm Sookie's friend, William Compton. Her birth partner."

"I'm glad you're here to help."

"I'm happy to do it."

There seemed to be more to their conversation. In fact, I'd be happy to let the two of them go off for coffee and a chat. If only everyone would turn their attention away from me, everything would stop. "William's an excellent attorney," I said to Dr. Sonntag. _He'd helped save our home._

She nodded at L.L.. "That's wonderful."

Yes, there could be something there. "I can wait," I said again, forcing more certainty in my voice.

No one argued with me. Instead, they continued tending to their business. Dr. Sonntag pulled on a long-sleeve gown backwards. She unwrapped a pair of glasses that looked like safety goggles with a big plastic splash guard flap extending high.

"Those look serious," I joked.

She smiled, but didn't take them off.

The nurse next to me had turned from a monitor. "You can lie on your side if you'd be more comfortable," she suggested. "Sometimes there's less tearing in that position."

That sounded awfully good to me. I could take a nap on my side and wait for Eric to arrive. I turned awkwardly, my gown tangling. Annoyed, I tugged it up over The Mountain, not even caring that I was half naked. Yes, here I would take a nap and rest a bit. But Nurse Harter was directing L.L. to help hold my leg in position, bent at the knee. And Dr. Sonntag was reaching between my legs, only I couldn't feel her because the pressure had mounted, and in spite of my best efforts to stop it all, it was really happening. I bore down.

Sweet Jesus, had it hurt this much last time? I mean, I knew it hurt, but surely I hadn't traveled to the fiery pits of hell and beyond. Was I giving birth to a baby or a freaking bonfire?

I warbled a high-pitched squeal. And then I think I actually growled, like an animal, and topped it off with a moan.

"Shh, Sookie," L.L. soothed.

"You shush," I snapped at him. Let him try to birth a firebomb quietly. "Fucking Northman genes." Where was he, anyway?

"The father is a rather tall man," L.L. explained to the doctor, as though it were an important part of my medical history.

I groaned. Surely she could see already that I was birthing no petite baby. I was surprised she wasn't backing away from my vagina and running for cover. Didn't she know a giant Molotov cocktail would explode out at any moment?

That irresistible urge to push bore down on me again, along with a wave of relinquishment. There was nothing more I could do about it. There was no doubt about it; this was happening. No more waiting. Right here. Right now. I did the only thing I could. Taking control of the moment, I went to that blank, quiet place in my mind, swept clean by pure grit and hard, determined concentration. Fear curled at the edges, threatening to wind anything in its path. I pushed against it. Hard.

I don't know how long I pushed, but suddenly, I was pulled outward again. The room came back into focus. L.L.'s arm had wrapped around my knee.

"It's there, right?" I gasped, my breath coming to me in short, rapid bursts. It had to be. It had to be almost over.

"Reach down and see." Dr. Sonntag guided my hand down to the slippery, unyielding form jammed solidly between my legs. "You're doing a great job. Whenever you're ready."

I groaned in exasperation. I wanted it out. Now.

Bearing down hard, I gave it my all, expecting Number Two to practically shoot out. Pain sliced through me.

"Hold up, hold up, Sookie." Dr. Sonntag reached down to do some fiddling.

_It wasn't fucking out yet?_

The activity in the room picked up then. Next to me, Nurse Harter tensed. "Keep a hold of her leg," she instructed L.L., and then to me, she said, "Turn over, Sookie." She guided me flat on my back and pushed my knee all the way to my shoulder. On my other side, L.L. did the same. There, in that rather inglorious position, I had myself an excellent view of the ceiling tiles. They slipped and blurred together.

"Keep going, keep going!" Dr. Sonntag coached.

_Go where?_ I'd gladly leave. It wasn't right. They weren't saying what was wrong out loud, but their mannerisms told me they were trying to stay calm. It wasn't a natural calmness. It was a forced, driven kind of calm—much too quiet—the kind of calm that comes only out of a need. _What's wrong?_ I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

From out of nowhere, other bodies appeared in the room, rustling in their blue hospital garb. I recalled those jostling red and yellow balloons and how quiet noises sometimes sound loud. The meandering, carefree whistling of my wheelchair driver played in my head on a loop, recursive. I shook against it.

"Two minutes," Nurse Harter said.

"Give us a push, Sookie," Dr. Sonntag directed.

I started to cry, which was a problem because then I couldn't give a good, solid push, which made me cry even more.

"Push your baby out, Sookie!"

Utterly and truly exhausted, I wished to God that Eric were there. Pinned down with my head back, I didn't see the hands reaching, but the moment they pressed, a finely-tuned panic snipped free, drawing a single loose thread straight through me, unraveling. _No!_ Their hands would hurt, I knew. I scrabbled and thrashed against them, but might for might, they were stronger. They held me rigidly, right on top of the pain.

_Let me go!_ I tried to tell them, but the words jammed in my throat. They said my name again and again. _I'm here! What do you want?_ I'd do anything for them to stop touching. _Tell me!_ From overhead, their looming voices slipped and blurred, just like those ceiling tiles. Pain and fear have a way of doing that, you know, of peeling reason clean away from reality. Bewildered, I struggled to pull myself together, to make sense of time and place, badly frayed.

A voice to my left sounded over the others. "Sookie!" L.L. directed my attention. He smoothed the hair out of my face and lowered his head near mine. I grabbed for him with both hands and held on tightly, clenching his arm. "Stay here!" A grunting sob escaped from my chest.

"Another push, Sookie!" Dr. Sonntag urged.

Nurse Harter leaned over me again, her hands reaching. "No!" The actual word came out of me, sounding appallingly wild. I bore down hard—shoved back—terrified I'd be caught helpless again.

"Sookie!" L.L. jostled my arm. "Sookie, look down! It's a boy."

A bundle passed from between my legs and was whisked away by the blue-clad, nameless people.

L.L. had loosened his hold on my leg and grabbed for my hand. I wondered why his cheeks were wet. When I turned my head to the side, I saw nothing but a solid wall of blue. They were faceless workers to me. Just backs.

Nurse Harter and Dr. Sonntag weren't smiling, and they hadn't moved away from me. I wanted to shoo them away. Nothing in that room—in a hospital, high up in the treetops—was making sense. An angry squall pierced my confusion.

Details filtered in, selectively. L.L. squeezed my hand hard. Dr. Sonntag passed a stainless steel bowl to Nurse Harter, resembling the kind Gran used for mixing cakes. I barely felt the pinch of a needle. When Nurse Harter pushed down on my squishy abdomen, I knew I lacked something important. And then the blue wall disassembled, and suddenly I was holding a squirming hunk of raw flesh. Atop me, his face scrunched as he let out a high-pitched cry.

I had started to shake, my teeth chattering. The tension in the room seemed to have been released. I watched the people near me for clues. They moved briskly, but not in a driven kind of way. Someone laughed. Another person touched my arm and said, "Good job, Mom." I wondered whether I dared breathe in their relief too.

Only a niggling worry was starting to form, undefined. I struggled to figure out whether I needed to concern myself with it.

"You want me to try to call?" L.L. inquired.

"What?" I looked to him, confused.

"Eric. Should I try to find Eric?"

_Maybe that was it. _I nodded through emerging tears.

After L.L. left, Nurse Harter helped me remove my wet gown and covered me up as best as she could with a blanket.

"Sookie?" She shook my upper arm.

"What?"

"I asked whether you want to try to feed your baby."

_My baby._ _I was holding my newborn baby. _I didn't know whether I was wholly up for that, but we were already halfway there, plus it seemed like the thing to do at the moment. She helped me get him situated. He fussed a bit and took a few tries before latching on, somewhat lackadaisically. A blood pressure cuff squeezed my arm. Despite the wash of bewilderment and confusion, later I would remember the warmth of his skin, smudged and marked by birth. I would remember his thick brown hair—like Gran's—wet and matted down. And I'd remember his tiny fingers with their paper thin nails, wriggling without purpose.

_Happy birthday. Welcome to the world. _

Nurse Harter gently slid a cap on his head.

L.L. returned a few minutes later. "Everybody's okay," he began, which immediately alerted me to the fact that there was indeed a problem. "I couldn't get in touch with them, but Eric left a message on my voice mail after being unable to contact you. They're actually downstairs, in the ER."

Numb to any more stress, I waited.

"E.J. took a fall and split open his chin. No concussion. Nothing broken. He's getting only a few stitches."

"How?" I grappled with the news.

"I don't know. I thought I'd check in with you to see how you're doing and then try to find them. Is that okay?"

I nodded.

"You'll be okay here on your own?"

I was hardly alone, drawing way too much attention for my liking. I nodded again, shoving back a sob. Later, I would owe L.L. a huge thank you.

Down below, Dr. Sonntag had wheeled over an embarrassingly bright lamp, flooding light between my legs. There were more gruesome tasks to be done.

I closed my eyes for a moment to rest. Number Two appeared to agree we'd been through a big ordeal. His body had quieted, save for the quick, weak, rhythmic tugs of a baby sucking for comfort. I might have even fallen into a light sleep. At some point, I sensed more movement near me, and opening my eyes, caught the worn, striated weave of Eric's jeans, drawing my eyes up and up and up to his face, tilted down toward mine. That long, tall view of his body blocked out the cold space filled with equipment and metal instruments and impersonal décor. And then the length of him was folding down, face-to-face with me. Crouched low, stiff and awkward, he looked all arms, as though any movement would send a tray of instruments crashing, or jostle a newborn baby, or bump against a doctor wielding pointy objects.

My fears emerged from the fog. "E.J.!"

"He's fine. Bill's with him."

It was the first occasion I couldn't be there for E.J. for something big, instead tending to another son. _Another _son. I had two children in my care, though at that moment, I decided one plus one equaled more than two.

"It's a boy," I told him.

Eric relaxed visibly, his face shifting into a quiet smile. I suspected if I had said, "It's a girl," he'd have had the same reaction. L.L. had saved a nice surprise for him.

Reaching behind him, he grabbed for a chair, its metal legs squawking in protest against the tiled floor. Once settled close to the bed, he reached through the bed railing to carefully peel away Number Two's blanket. Pink and wrinkly and raw with that freshly-crammed-through-a-birth-canal appearance, the baby resembled a pork loin. Mild consternation crossed Eric's face.

"He's okay," I assured him. "E.J. looked like a rump roast at birth."

He laughed, his movements easing more. "Yes, he's okay," he pronounced as though it were an official medical diagnosis. His fingertips stroked Number Two's arm, curled up against his body. Today, the baby would sleep in the world, but one day he'd wake and discover he could unfold himself, and then anything would be possible.

"And you're okay too," he said with conviction, glancing down at Dr. Sonntag, still diligently setting me right. He leaned over the bed rail to kiss my forehead.

_Yes, alive and mostly in one piece with a healthy newborn snuggled in my arms. _And yet, with Eric there, his lips pressed against my forehead, something cut loose. Fresh panic swelled. Those frightening moments, compressed and constricted, were starting to open up again, expanding like dried sponges soaking up water. Their waterlogged pressure in my chest pushed out a gagging sob.

"Sookie…" He appeared to struggle for words, then abruptly stood and walked to the foot of the bed, next to the doctor, observing her handiwork. "She is well, yes?"

"She's great. Your baby is lucky to have such a strong and brave mama. They're both real fighters."

Dr. Sonntag glanced up at Eric through her safety glasses. He was still hovering over her, surveying and assessing like a foreman on a construction site.

She returned her attentions to me. "She's got some tearing that I'm stitching up. The bleeding seems to be under control. We'll keep an eye on it, but I'm just about finished here for now."

Apparently satisfied, Eric returned to my side and nodded firmly, dispassionately. "So there you have it," he seemed to say.

Still dazed and teetering on the edge of something old and dark, I decided I would follow his lead, experienced in its own way. Forging ahead was the way to go. The baby was alive and well and healthy. So was I. Eric was there with us. And E.J. had probably already convinced L.L. to buy him some ice cream.

I took a deep, shaky breath and pushed forward, ignoring the lurking panic. "Do you want to hold him?"

He looked relieved. "May I?"

"Sure. He's finished eating. For now."

Number Two slipped off my breast easily as I shifted. Eric gingerly plucked him out of my arms, disentangling him from the blankets, and brought him in close to his chest. "He's _so_ tiny!"

I wasn't sure our second ten-pounder could be classified as tiny, but still, he _was _a newborn.

"Was E.J. this small?"

"Even a couple ounces smaller. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

He placed a finger in Number Two's hand, which reflexively grasped him. And then sliding his finger free, he pulled at the tabs of the diaper, revealing the full length of the baby's scrawny, prune-like body with its swollen testicles. "Wow," he laughed appreciatively. Exposed to the cool air, the baby fussed and squirmed and flashed his dark brown eyes, just like Gran's.

Eric's proud smile faltered for the briefest of moments before freezing in place.

_Oh, for Pete's sake._

I didn't think I could possibly get any more exhausted, but somehow, my head slipped lower on the pillow. I guessed I'd wait until later to tell him about his Corvette. I closed my eyes, hoping I could rest.

A rattling racket interrupted my plan. Eric had positioned the baby in the bassinette, underneath the warming lights, and had grasped hold of the bed rail, jiggling it impatiently to release the mechanism.

"He-ah," Nurse Harter said with alarm in her voice. I suspected she was worried that a big guy like Eric would rip off the entire thing. "Underneath he-ah." She pulled a latch, which released the railing.

Leaning forward, he managed to slip his arm underneath me to pull into an embrace. The weight of his head bore down on my chest, in the same place where he'd pinned that sapphire sunburst. I imagined it was there then, digging in so hard it hurt.

"I wanted to be here. You know that, don't you? I wish like hell I could have been here for you."

"I know." I knew it, but at that moment, I still appreciated his saying it aloud. "And I'm glad you were there for E.J." I caught his clenched fist by his side and loosened his fingers in mine. "It was scary." I needed to be able to say that aloud too, without having to venture into explanation just then.

With Dr. Sonntag gone, Eric shifted again and slid the exhausted dead weight of my body gently and easily to my side to curl up with me. The movement hurt, and soon I would send him off for an ice pack, but for the moment, I didn't think anything would feel better than having the mass of him pressed against my back.

"I'm proud of you." His voice caught in his throat. "I know it was hard."

It seemed like the right moment to let go and cry, and so I did. Together, we faced the window to catch the backside of Indira, nothing more than dark clouds on the horizon, pushed out by skies scrubbed clear and blue. On this side of the building, facing east, shadows cast long and dark, brightened here and there by the weak, but warm and golden light of late day in late summer, still persisting, angling itself over and around edges and corners.

* * *

_Nighttime was rolling in noticeably earlier now that September had breached. _

_It was a night for celebrating with friends. _

_On the side porch, a small group had gathered near the chip-and-dip, which I'd refilled several times. Outside on the lawn, another group congregated near the outdoor furniture we'd borrowed from L.L.. A bright orange snake of an extension cord cut through them, powering a sound system Jason had set up, on loan from Quinn. From further off, the clank of quoits could be heard. _

_I flicked on the set of mini twinkle lights strung across the window. They're fireflies," I said to E.J.. _

_Russell snorted, "Let's hope he doesn't take after his father." _

_I already knew that particular story Russell was referring to; it bothered me much less than his interest in lording it over us and stirring up the muck. Not willing to give him the satisfaction, I pulled on E.J. to have him help me tend to the drink table. _

_A few minutes later, Pam caught up with me as I was slicing more lemons. She had something on her mind, I could tell, by the cat-that-ate-the canary look on her face. Without any prelude, she practically purred, "Russell's terrible at poker."_

_I raised an eyebrow. _

"_Way over-confident," she disclosed._

_This had possibilities, indeed. "How's Eric?" I asked. I hadn't had a chance to try him out at a poker table yet._

_She shrugged. "He's good. He can hold his own."_

_I stopped to consider. Eric might be able to hold his own in an ordinary game, but against Russell, I suspected he'd be terrible. In fact, any doubles challenge including the two of them would probably regress into a bloodbath between just the two of them. _

"_And how are you?" I asked._

_A full grin crossed her face. "I'm fabulous." _

_I slid a glass of wine to her, mulling over how this information might be used._

"_We'll talk later, Mama." She tipped her glass to me and gave The Mountain a pat before sauntering off._

"_Pammy!" E.J. called out, running after her. "Pammy!" His little hands tugged at her pressed linen trousers._

_Turning my attentions back to the bar, I tossed some empties into a recycling bin, checked the ice, and gave the table a quick wipe. And then with those chores done, I decided to find a few quiet moments, away from the odors of seaweed and shellfish wafting from the beach. Crossing onto L.L.'s yard, I walked to the far side of his property, where a small path led to his beach area. The beach curved here, forming a small inlet. _

_I scooted down into the sand and laid my head back to breathe in deeply and freely. The air was thick and heavy, so dense, it shrouded the lights from the boats and houses nearby, backlighting the foggy night and turning the sky and sea into one solid pewter darkness. Behind that thick murk, anything was possible. Anything could be lurking._

_The noises of celebration carried on. Steady music and the rise and fall of many voices were punctuated by bouts of laughter and E.J.'s excited shouts. This place was ours now, in so many new ways. We'd laid our own claims to it—fought to keep it intact—aided by others closest to us._

_Things hadn't worked out exactly as we'd planned, but L.L. was now the owner of all the land around us. We'd all taken our hits along the way—made sacrifices, gotten roughed up—but here we were, generally secure, though not wholly intact, in our home. It belonged to us, buffered by L.L.'s properties._

"_There you are." Eric's voice crept from behind, his bare feet muffled by the sand. "On a night like tonight, I should have known to look here first." Lowering himself, he straddled me from behind and wrapped me in a firm embrace. He felt substantial and real._

"_How's the food coming along?" I asked._

"_Potatoes are still quite hard, but no one wants to wait any longer."_

"_I guess our timing was a little off. Next year we'll get it right."_

"_Next year?"_

"_Didn't you know? This is the first year of our annual tradition."_

_He laughed. "Next year, then. You're not hungry?"_

_I wrinkled my nose. "Smell of warm seaweed wasn't too appealing." I might not ever have the taste for a traditional New England clam bake again. L.L. had helped prepare the sand pit earlier in the afternoon, while Eric and E.J. had gathered stones and seaweed. After the fire had burned down and the rocks had turned white hot, Sam took charge of layering seaweed with steamers, quahogs, lobsters, potatoes, linguiça, and corn on the cob. And then we waited. A long time. _

"_Where's the baby?"_

"_Here." I positioned his hand where a body part was swiping. His hands stroked my belly, circling the whole of me. He'd managed to wrap his arms around all of me, even on days when I didn't think it could be done. I'd had my own work cut out for me; there was an awful lot of Eric to love, too._

_And yet, sitting here in front of this vast expanse of murk, and whatever it hid from us, we were just two small people. __Maybe we should have run from it—maybe that would have been the sensible thing to do—but somehow with Eric, the two of us together, the mystery felt more exciting and less threatening. _

_I turned my head and shifted to the side, where his lips met mine. I wondered whether our kisses would ever falter. If we would be lucky enough to grow old together, one day his lips might surprise me, and this moment—on the cusp of new life, celebrating with friends and family—would open and unfold, carefully preserved._

_But memories aren't fixed in place, unchangeable. That back-and-forth conversation between now and then wouldn't ever stop, guiding us forward, continually changing our perspectives. What we remembered would depend a lot on where we ended up and how we got there. We loved each other, that much was true, but I knew enough to understand that nothing is unshakeable. _

_I breathed deeply, pulling the here-and-now inside. _

_Behind me, Eric was squirming, making me wonder whether he was adjusting himself in his jeans. Sex on the beach, with the waves splashing over us, wasn't nearly as romantic as Hollywood's version. Wasn't that always the case? _

_But he surprised me when he pulled a soft pouch from his jeans and opened it. _

_The sapphire sunburst. _

_He held it out, flashing dark in his pale palm._

"_Oh!" I reached out to touch it. __It still reminded me of the sky and sea at once, of Great Love. Vast and all-encompassing. Imperfect, too._ "It's even more beautiful than I remembered it."  


"_May I?"_

_I pointed to a spot on my sundress in response. His fingers worked the delicate clasp and lingered for a bit, sneaking inside the straps of my sundress and bra and slipping them off my shoulder, where his lips trailed. I reached up to touch the pin, in place. It felt good, like it was meant to be there. _

"_Sookie?" L.L. called out from above us, on the lawn. I turned my head in his direction and looked up through the bank of beach roses. _

"_Shhh." Eric breathed into my ear, making me shiver. His smiling lips brushed down my neck._

"_Sookie?" L.L. called again, from further away. _

_Eric's mouth hovered near my ear. He held still, his only movement the whisper of his breath. I waited there with him, motionless, until he finally spoke. _

"_Where were we?" he murmured.  
_

"_Right here," I said, knowing.  
_

_Together, we turned to face the great open space before us._

_~xoxo~  
_


End file.
